


Our Garden Home

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Autistic Castiel, Character Development, Cute overload, Depression Recovery, Domestic Castiel, Domestic Dean, Domestication, Eventual Romance, Fairy AU, Fairy Castiel, Fairy Dean, Family, Food Issues, Gift Exchange, Grumpy Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Leviathan Castiel, Living Together, M/M, Miniature Castiel, Miniature Dean, Nesting, Schmoop, Seasonal, Slow Build, Social Anxiety, Socially Awkward Castiel, Supportive Dean, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flower fairy Dean has caught a thief in his trap. As it turns out, it wasn't a mouse stealing his food. It was Castiel: a hissy, bitey bat sprite with one wing and a forlorn, lonely heart. Dean offers a warm space in his nest, where Castiel can stay until Springtime comes around again. However, Castiel becomes more than just a guest. With a little effort, he helps make Dean's nest a home.</p><p>***NOW COMPLETE!***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Green Leaves Are Dusty

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to my sister, who happily assisted me in procrastinating instead of finishing my DCBB. Dammit.  
>  ~~I don't know how often this fic will update, since I do still have that DCBB to finish. Probably, like, once a week. Maybe more often if I'm feeling productive. Less often if not.~~  
>  FIC IS NOW COMPLETED!!  
> Incidentally, this fic is basically _How to Train Your Dragon_ but with cohabiting fairies and [Soulless Cas](http://images5.fanpop.com/image/photos/31600000/Cas-castiel-31647518-500-295.png) (like [the comics by musicalirony](http://musicalirony.deviantart.com/gallery/27709916/Supernatural)).
> 
>  **Warnings:** Dean has a pet mouse, Castiel eats bugs (I'll try and make this as non-gross as possible because ew). Features a semi-graphic wing injury and a short-lived fire in the first chapter. General references to depression in the second chapter. (Warnings will be updated as the fic updates.)

Summertime was almost over. By no means was the Garden any colder, but the nights grew longer by every passing of the Night Sun overhead, and grains became precious. Food would only become more scarce in the coming weeks.

That was why Dean had to _do_ something about it. If this thieving mouse went on the way it did, sneaking grains and berries out of his store every night, Dean would be hungry come Wintertime. Dean already had one mouse to feed back home; he didn’t have space for another pet.

Under the cover of dewy green grass, Dean set down his trap. The plan was simple: he’d put a berry in the middle of a net, cover the net with earth, then he’d hide, with the ends of the net all twisted into a string in his hands. When he felt a tug, he’d leap away and the force would pull the net up high, and his thief would be captured once and for all.

With the berry and net in place, Dean went and crouched behind the nearest grass stalks. He had a good grip on his vine; he dared not let go, even if it took hours for the mouse to arrive.

It shouldn’t take hours, though. The Sun had already made its descent, and the sky had become a thick, inky violet, like darkest of bluebell flowers. At this time of night, Dean always heard a rattling and a rustling outside his nest. Whenever he left his nest and went to see what was going on, his store had already been looted and his breakfast for the next day was _gone_. It was awful. It pained him just to think about it.

Dean heard a crackle.

Holding his breath, Dean’s heart beat hard, sure he was seconds away from victory. He stayed as quiet as he could, waiting... waiting...

The string in his hands twitched. Dean gasped and leapt up and forward, running until his feet skidded on crusty earth, held back by the weight in the net. His legs shook with the effort of holding the pendulum steady: this was no mouse. Mice were never this heavy.

Dean broke into a sweat as he lashed the string to the stalk of a nearby rose. The string juddered even after Dean was certain it was secure. The monster in the trap was furious – its screeching was incessant, and cut into Dean’s mind like a knife on glass. Trepidation filled him from his bare toes to the messy hair on his head. Thank Heavens he had his flower armour on; he always felt braver with his armour.

He picked up a twig to use as a weapon, and with his heart in his throat, he crept forward, edging towards the grass that hid the monster from his sight.

He inhaled sharply when he saw what was in his trap, hung upside-down.

It was another fairy. But not just any fairy. This one had angry black wings with claws; its face was pale-skinned and creased with an unsightly frown, and it hissed and screeched like something was causing it great pain.

...Maybe something was.

“Are— Are you okay?” Dean asked, both hands gripping his twig.

“ _Hsssssshhhh!_ ” replied the other fairy. It flapped its mad black wings and clawed at the netting around it, tangling itself further. “ _Hsssssss!_ ” It then let out a terrible, shrill screech, calling for its tribe.

Dean swung his twig around and looked up at the darkening sky, expecting to be divebombed by bat sprites. But nothing came. An owl hooted in the distance, and another owl hooted back.

Dean turned on the other fairy, not sure what to do now.

It took him a moment of squinting in the dim light before he could be sure, but yes... the fairy had red around its mouth. It had eaten the berry.

“You!” Dean puffed, highly unimpressed. “It was you stealing my food.”

“Hss.” The fairy flapped its wings and glared with ferocious blue eyes.

Dean clenched his teeth and made up his mind: he was taking this creature prisoner, and he’d ask his brother Sam what to do with it once the Sun rose. With that plan in mind, he went and untied the net’s anchor from the rose stalk. He heard the thump as the fairy hit the ground, and he went back to check it hadn’t escaped.

The bat-winged fairy was too tangled to go anywhere. Now it was sitting upright, Dean saw its face properly. It was not so ugly this way up. In fact, Dean was surprised to see it looked a lot like him. Wide shoulders, short tufty hair on its head. Perhaps, in the right light, it might even look handsome.

The wings and the scowling kept it unappealing, however.

“Hsss! Let me go,” the fairy said, head down threateningly as it raised one clawed wing over its hunched back. “I do _not_ belong to you!”

“Never said you did, buddy,” Dean said derisively. “Where’d you come from, anyway? What’s your name?”

“HSSS! No! Let me go!” The creature flapped about in a flurry of limbs and wings, only serving to truss itself up in a knot.

“Hey, hey— Whoa, slow down,” Dean said. He lowered his twig and went towards the fairy, hands out to calm it. “You’re only going to hurt yourself like this. Stay still for a minute and I’ll free you.”

The fairy settled, but it was still shaking with rage, its livid eyes trained on Dean as he cut through the netting, freeing it up bit-by-bit.

When the net fell away, the fairy didn’t get up. It hissed quietly and angled its face away, and quickly became occupied with something, as though tending to a wound.

“Did I hurt you?” Dean asked, concerned. He trod closer, but backed up when met with gnashing fangs and a wrinkled snout. “Okay, okay! I won’t touch you. Just let me see.”

The fairy thought about that, huffing its breaths. But, to Dean’s intrigue, it slowly unfurled its protective black wing and it raised its jaw defiantly, revealing an injury at its back.

Dean immediately realised two important things. Firstly, he himself was not the one who caused such an injury. Secondly – no _wonder_ this fairy had taken to stealing Dean’s food.

“You got knocked outta the sky, didn’t you?” Dean said in wonder, turning his head to see the injury better. “Attacked by a bird, I’m guessing.” The fairy’s entire right wing had been shredded to pieces, left with nothing but baggy, black velvet skin and scabs.

The creature was trembling, still hunched up, ready to strike Dean if he came any closer.

“I won’t hurt you,” Dean assured it. “I’m Dean. What’s your name?”

“Ssss.” The fairy considered Dean for some time, then licked at his snout with a forked tongue. Dean saw its expression change from angry and fearful to just plain fearful. “Casssstiel,” it said.

“Castiel,” Dean repeated. “I’ve never heard a name like that.”

“I am a son of _darknessss_ ,” Castiel replied, eyes narrowing to a squint. “You, _Dean_ – you’re nothing but daylight, dewdropsss and dirt, you are nothing to me. You can’t _fly_ like my tribe can.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah? Well, right now, you don’t look like you’ll be doing any flying either, buster. Save it for the... y’know.” He frowned. “Whatever. Just save it.”

Castiel snorted in Dean’s direction.

Dean stared for a bit longer, wondering if Castiel had any plans to move from where he sat. “So, uh...” Dean glanced up, but there was still no bat tribe in sight. “Where is your tribe, anyway?”

Castiel lowered his eyes – the first non-defensive gesture he’d made. He seemed sad instead, but Dean wasn’t convinced that was any better.

“They,” Castiel started, licking his fangs again. “They left.”

“To go where?”

“To the caves.” Castiel looked up, a sorry shine in his eyes. “They go every Wintertime, where it’sss nice and dark. Wintertime is the bessssst time of the year.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “But all the food is here in Summertime.”

“That’ssss why we leave the caves at all, you pathetic insssect! All the food isss here! And now—” He gaped in fury, but the fury melted to despair, and he hung his head. His voice was quiet and small as he said, “Now I have nothing to eat, and I... I don’t know how...”

Dean pitied the poor guy. “You don’t know how to scavenge ground-food.”

Castiel didn’t look up this time. His mouth was all sad; the only fangs that showed now were the two at the corners of his mouth, little white downward points. It they weren’t terrifying, Dean might’ve found them cute.

“Look,” Dean said, “When’s your tribe coming back? They must not have noticed when you got hit and fell. Once they notice they’ll come back.”

Castiel was quiet.

“Hey...” Dean moved closer, so his feet stepped into Castiel’s line of sight. Slowly, he knelt down on the shreds of the net, and Castiel looked him in the eye with a morosity that unsettled Dean.

“They won’t be back until next Springtime,” Castiel said. “We have a rule: we sssstop for nothing, we sssslow down for nothing. We are darkness, we are...” He looked away. “We are all-consuming and we... we _demand_ your fear.” He snapped in Dean’s face, snarling, teeth bared, but Dean didn’t even flinch.

“Hate to break it to ya, pal, but I ain’t any more scared of you than I am of Squishbeans.”

“Sq... Squishbeanss?”

“My pet mouse,” Dean smiled. He got to his feet, brushing down his knees. “Come on,” he said, lifting what remained of the net off Castiel’s intact wing. “I’ve got space in my nest. One more mouth to feed shouldn’t make too much of a difference, given you’ve been pinching my breakfasts for the last week. Then, once you’re healed up, I can teach you to hunt like I do. Nuts and berries and sweet dewy flowers.”

“Eugh,” Castiel said, flicking out his forked tongue in distaste. “Why don’t you eat bugssss like a normal fairy? I’m ssssick of berries.”

“You eat bugs? Ew.” Dean screwed up his face. Then he shook his head. “ _I_ eat berries. If you have any will to survive at all, you’re gonna have to put up with it.” With a kick to the vine, he freed Castiel from the net fully, and he held out his hands so Castiel could get to his feet.

Castiel’s didn’t.

Dean sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Stay here. But don’t think I won’t be waiting by my food stores with a sand shooter. And I’m warning you now, those shards sting like a bee when they hit skin.”

Shoulders squared, Dean turned and marched his way back home. He didn’t slow down at all, but he smiled in satisfaction when he heard a rustle, then the quick pad of feet as Castiel trotted after him.

Dean led the way to his nest, following the golden light that shone through the windows of his tree stump home. He opened the door, and he left it open as he went straight for the cupboard to get some ointment for Castiel’s injured wing. He took his red petal chestplate off as he went, leaving it hung over the back of a dining chair.

When Dean turned around, Castiel stood on the carved step outside, his night-pale face illuminated with reflections from Dean’s lanterns inside. His eyes looked from place to place around Dean’s nest, from the dining table on the round green rug in the middle to the fireplace on the left. Then he peered at the pile of pillows on the right, then the ladder that led up to a shadowy hole in the corner of the ceiling.

“What?” Dean asked, striding up to Castiel, wrapping a bandage back and forth around his hands. “You never been inside a nest before?”

“No,” Castiel said. He blinked twice, then swallowed. “It’s just, I expected...”

A grin lifted to Dean’s face. “You thought I’d live in a flower? Is that what your batty old grandfolks used to tell you as a baby? Us ground fairies haven’t lived like that in years.” Still smiling, Dean turned away and put the bandages on the table. “Come in if you’re coming. But decide quickly, you’re letting in a draft.”

He went to the cupboard and got out a blueberry pie he’d made yesterday. It was about time he got the chance to share his baking.

Dean didn’t turn to look, but he smiled when he heard Castiel step gingerly inside – then the _clump_ as he closed the door behind him.

“Here,” Dean said, serving some pie on a wooden plate. He cut a second slice, then carried both over to Castiel. Castiel was investigating the lit lantern on the table, sniffing the plant resin that burned gently inside. With a smile, Dean slid him one plate.

“What’ssss thisss?” Castiel said, squinting at the foreign food.

“The best thing you’ll ever eat,” Dean said, stabbing Castiel’s slice with a spork. “Nutritious, filling, and delicious.” He sat at a chair and crammed a bite of his own slice into his mouth, beaming. “It’s pie! Can’t go wong wiv pie.”

Castiel stood with his wings tucked in, staring at Dean in disgust as he ate his slice. Dean paid him little attention, but when he was done with his slice, he rubbed his belly and looked eagerly at Castiel’s uneaten meal. “Are you gonna eat that?”

Castiel’s tongue lashed out, then hid back behind his teeth.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “That a no?” He reached across the table and hooked the plate closer with a fingertip. The plate made a hushing noise as Dean dragged it closer—

Castiel snatched the plate and held it, hissing at Dean.

Dean chuckled, standing up. “Wise choice, my friend. Wise choice.”

“I’m not your friend,” Castiel muttered darkly, taking the spork and examining it before spooning up a glob of pie. He ate the pie defiantly, glaring at Dean. Then his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, and he squeaked.

Dean paused while tipping some ointment onto the bandages. “Don’t like it?”

Castiel swallowed, still staring.

Dean couldn’t tell if that glare was murderous or not. “Look, I’m not trying to poison you, I’m trying to feed you. Quit looking at me like that.”

Castiel slowly – very slowly – took the spork and took out another lump of pie. Slowly – very slowly indeed – he put it in his mouth.

He blinked at Dean, and he chewed. Then he swallowed. Then he picked up the spork again.

Dean smirked.

Taking a deep breath, Dean edged around the bat sprite and put himself at his back. Castiel looked over his shoulder suspiciously, but was too distracted by the pie to do much more than twitch when Dean lifted his injured wing.

“Does it hurt?” Dean asked, thumbing at crusty, frayed edges. He saw a bone or two poking through, but it didn’t seem to be infected.

Castiel swallowed another big bite of pie. “We are trained to block the pain,” he said, matter-of-factly. “If itsss not going to kill me, it’sss not a problem.”

“Not a problem? Dude, you’re missing half your body and you’ve resorted to ransacking strangers’ food stores to stay alive. How is that _not_ a problem?”

Castiel turned further around and looked Dean in the eye. “I am sssstill alive. That your food is gone iss not _my_ problem.”

“Right,” Dean said flatly. “They teach you some fine, shiny morals in that batcave school of yours, don’t they.”

“Only the bessst.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean reached for the bottle of ointment and the bandages. “Brace yourself, batman – this might smart a bit.”

Dean began dabbing ointment on the wounds, and Castiel was fine for the first few seconds. Then he flung himself around and hissed as though Dean had tried to pull his wings off completely.

“Chill! _Chill_!” Dean yelled, taking Castiel’s pie off him and putting it down before it got dropped. “I’m trying to _help_ you!”

Squishbeans heard the racket from outside, which was rather unfortunate, as this was a bad time for a mouse half Castiel’s size to nose its way through the flap in the front door. Dean stood in her path, gently instructing her to “Leave,” but she always liked new people and her little pink nose was quivering in interest, whiskers tickling at Dean’s thighs.

Castiel, unsurprisingly, was now hissing and screeching intermittently, holding a chair between himself and Squishbeans. Squishbeans took that as an invitation to play, and she barrelled past Dean and stood on her hind legs, ducking and bouncing as she got close to Castiel.

Castiel panicked, and Dean watched helplessly as the bat sprite climbed up on the dining table, knocking over the lit lantern, where it smashed and sent fiery oil spreading across the wood. Dean ran to get a cup of water from the kitchen pump, muttering damnations to himself, too aware that behind him, his mouse was nipping at Castiel’s sleek black shoes and causing great distress.

Dean ran back and put out the fire in one splash, then turned to Squishbeans. He whistled, drawing her attention. Squishbeans looked his way, her big black eyes curious and shiny. “Out!” Dean barked, pointing towards the door. “Bad mouse!”

Squishbeans squibbled unhappily, but Dean was having none of it. “OUT!”

Squishbeans scuttled off sadly, pausing at the door, looking back, only to see Dean glaring at her. With her long tail down to the floor, she went back outside, probably off to dig another hole in Dean’s overgrown lawn in retaliation.

Dean sighed, turning his eyes up to his petrified guest, who hadn’t moved from the tabletop. Castiel was shaking all over, his knees turned together, his body lowered into a half-crouch. Dean couldn’t help but notice the patch of black goo trailing down the inner thigh of Castiel’s lizard-skin armour – a fear response, Dean remembered learning about it in school once – but Dean said nothing about it, in case Castiel got defensive again.

“Squishbeans is gentle as anything once you get to know her, I promise,” Dean said, but his words were too little, too late. “Come on,” he sighed. “If you come down, I’ll fill you a bath and get you some clean clothes.”

Even though Castiel didn’t move, Dean went and got what he’d promised. Though he’d planned on using the hot water for tea, he pulled the metal bucket out of the fireplace and mixed its contents with cooler water. He checked the pail was comfortably warm before he dragged the round wooden washtub out from under the kitchen sink.

Castiel was down off the table now, maintaining what Dean supposed was an uncharacteristic silence. Dean watched him begin to undress, but in an attempt to preserve Castiel’s modesty, Dean turned away to get clothes.

Dean kept his eyes averted when he returned from the bedroom upstairs. He set down a towel and a folded cotton tunic on a three-legged stool pulled from the kitchen, and he cleared his throat. “You okay?”

Castiel didn’t answer.

Dean looked up and saw Castiel was hunched over, arms wrapped around his bare knees, waist-deep in the bathwater. His face was hidden, turned away. There was no way Dean could keep from feeling bad for him right now.

“You want me to pour the bucket over you?” Dean asked.

Castiel sniffed.

Dean breathed out, and sat on top of the clean clothes to grab the bucket. “Close your eyes,” he said, and gently tipped some warm water over Castiel’s hair. Castiel spluttered and shook his head, but allowed Dean to pour another slosh over him. Dean hesitated, but then went to get soap. He lathered some up on his hands and scrunched it into Castiel’s hair. At first Castiel stiffened, but then he relaxed.

Dean smiled. “Used to do this for my little brother,” he said, seeing dirt slide down Castiel’s back within rivulets of bubbles. “He used to get as dirty as this, rootin’ around the Garden, looking for bugs.” Dean’s smile dimmed, and he began thoughtful. “Maybe I could dig you up a few grubs. Sam used to say they were nutritious. I just figured he was being pretentious, following diets meant for other kinds of fairies, but...” Dean paused to rinse Castiel’s hair, then his wings while he was at it. “If you need bugs, you should have bugs.”

Castiel slowly lifted his head, and he tilted it to the side to let Dean pour water down his front.

They spent a few quiet minutes together, Castiel soaping himself up while Dean washed him down. Soon the tub was filled with bubbles and cold water, and Castiel sparkled like a fresh gem.

“Jeez,” Dean muttered, scrubbing at Castiel’s hair with his towel. “When was the last time you had a bath, anyway?”

“We bathe in the sacred watersss of darkness,” Castiel said.

Dean grimaced. “Here’s guessing those waters aren’t clear blue pools of springwater.”

“They are the same watersss our ancesstors bathed in,” Castiel said proudly. “Except for rain, not one drop of freshwater has touched our lakes since the First Age of Fairykind.”

Dean couldn’t wipe the grimace away. “Wow. Unsanitary, much?”

“We are darkness,” Castiel said, as if that explained everything.

Shaking his head, Dean stood up and straightened the towel. “Stand up, would you? Two more minutes in there and you’ll go wrinkly.”

Castiel got to his feet, wings dripping wet. Dean dried them gently, first the intact one, then the injured one. He heard Castiel hiss in pain once or twice, but Dean was surprised when he didn’t get snarled at. Under all the bitey, hissy responses, Castiel was really quite trusting. Once he got settled, perhaps he wouldn’t be such a strain on the home dynamics around here.

That thought came and went through Dean’s mind, and only then did he recognise that he’d decided to let Castiel stay. The situation had led this way without his noticing, but it bothered him far less than it ought to. Post-rationalising assured him it was fine. For a dangerous-looking stranger to be scared of Squishbeans was somewhat telling, after all. Castiel wouldn’t have inked himself unless he’d really been scared. And nobody was scared of Squishbeans unless they’d never seen a mouse before in their life.

Dean let Castiel dry his lower half himself, and he left him alone for a bit, heading upstairs via the ladder.

Dean’s bedroom was much like a storage attic, as Sam liked to tease – wooden rafters and pillars kept the hollowed-out tree trunk from sagging in bad weather, and in the far corner, a small round lantern glowed from beside the bed. Dean pulled back the blankets and fluffed up the pillow, thinking Castiel deserved to be comfortable for his first night in a real nest.

Castiel poked his head through the trap door soon after. Dean spotted his squinty eyes watching him from the trap door, and he grinned. “Come on up,” Dean said invitingly. “It’s warmer up here, but I think you’ll like it.”

Castiel crept up the last few rungs of the ladder, padding across the attic floor. He looked very different in a cotton tunic: as a whole, he was no longer streamlined and dark, but lumpy at the back and coloured like the earth. He seemed ruffled and rumpled and tousled, and Dean found it to be a good look on him. He seemed far more approachable like this.

“There is no room for my wings in this garment,” Castiel stated. His wings pushed on the fabric and went nowhere, proving his point.

Dean fetched scissors from his tool kit, and made quick work of the back of the tunic. Now Castiel could stretch out his one-and-a-bit wings, flaring them wide and casting a fearsome shadow over the flowery tapestries on the back wall.

“I made up my bed for you,” Dean said, gesturing to the crumpled bedcovers and the three stacked pillows. “Cosiest place in the whole wide world.”

“I don’t ssssleep at – hmm _auuhhhh!_... at night,” Castiel said, while yawning. “I’m nocturnal.” He blinked his bleary eyes, squinting at Dean.

“Suit yourself,” Dean smiled. “I’m gonna do some baking so we have something for breakfast. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. You just... go to sleep when you’re ready.”

Dean left Castiel alone, and he washed up before he started in the kitchen. Squishbeans came inside after a few minutes, looking hopeful.

Dean grinned, and he fed her Castiel’s leftover pie before he got her real dinner. He crouched and rubbed her big, soft ears, smiling when she nosed at his face. “Sorry, girl,” he said gently. “Castiel isn’t used to nosy mice like you getting all up in his face. Take it easy on him next time, all right?”

Squishbeans twitched her whiskers and nibbled heartily at her food.

Dean put together the mixture for a quick-bake quiche, ready for the morning. The whole time, he felt like someone was watching him, but when he peered up at the trap door, he saw nothing, only shadows. When he was done in the kitchen, he went up to check on Castiel.

Dean lifted his lantern, and was surprised to see Castiel not in bed, but hanging upside down from the rafters. He opened one blue eye when he sensed Dean’s presence.

“What?” Castiel asked.

Dean slowly closed his mouth. “Nothing,” he said, turning his eyes away. Clearly a tunic wasn’t the right thing for Castiel to wear if he was going to hang upside down. It was all bunched around his chest, and the rest of him was naked as a baby. He must’ve been staring at Dean this whole time, since he had a clear line of sight to the kitchen from there.

“Um,” Dean said. “I’m... gonna get to bed.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. He closed his eyes.

Dean stared for a bit longer, baffled by this weird creature. He walked past and got a mint leaf from his special box, and he chewed it, carrying another one over to Castiel.

“Wan’h some mint?” Dean asked offering him a leaf. “It’ll make your mouff taste okay in the morning.”

Castiel said nothing, just opened his mouth. Dean poked in a leaf, and watched while Castiel chewed it.

Dean smiled as he went to his bed. Having Castiel in his room was strange, but not so strange that it was unsettling. The bat sprite had found his place in this room, and Dean had a feeling he’d be quick to find a place everywhere else, too.

The truth was, Castiel was going to be a bigger part of Dean’s life than Dean ever imagined. But for tonight, Dean got into bed satisfied that his guest would stay out of the way.

Ahh. So naive.

Well, he’ll find out soon enough.


	2. Crisp Breezes and More Rainy Days Than Dean Would Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** in this chapter for general references to depression.

Dean scrubbed his hands dry on a dish towel, hurriedly peering through the round window above the kitchen sink. Through the fluttering grass stalks outside, he could see distant trees swaying in a breeze, leaves blustered off their branches and flashing green-yellow-orange in the evening Sun. The shifting dust caught the light, but Dean didn’t see any fairies swept about in the same gust of wind. It was good to know, but he still worried.

“Cas!” he shouted up, hearing more rattling and bonking from upstairs. “Quit rearranging my stuff and come down here! I need help laying the table.”

There was no reply, so Dean got on with it himself, tutting and fussing as he slammed sporks into tidy formations around the table’s surface. He neatened the edges of the tablecloth, then lifted one corner, licking a thumb and rubbing it over the burn mark that stubbornly refused to be re-varnished. With a sigh, Dean let the tablecloth hang straight again.

“CAS!” he shouted. “Come help me with the mushroom.”

Dean took the mushroom out of the fireplace and put it on the table to cool, waving away steam with a cookbook.

A knock sounded at the door, and Dean flushed with panic. He hadn’t finished the treacle tarts yet!

“Last warning, Cas,” Dean called up. “C’mon! Don’t you wanna meet my best friend?”

He didn’t expect a response; by now all the spirit had gone out of him. All cross and bothered, he stomped across to the front door. He took a deep breath, composed himself, then opened the door.

“Dean!” Charlie cried, throwing herself over Dean’s shoulders. Her colourful butterfly wings fluttered madly as she scooted them both a whole two inches across the floor, laughing. She pulled back, her wild red hair sticking up at all angles. “Windiest day on record this season, and I should know. I followed a raincloud all the way from the East City! Took me two weeks!”

Dean ruffled her hair, then extracted his fingers from her tangled locks with a snicker. “You gotta tell me about that while we eat,” he said, finally getting back to the door and closing it. At last the wind settled, and the smell of home-cooked food returned to his smother his senses.

Smiling, Dean rolled up his embroidered cotton sleeves and went over to the dining table, neatening the plates. He remembered the treacle tart, and he quickly offered Charlie a choice of where to sit, then he rushed to the stove and slid the treacle off the edge of the heat, where he’d left it to stay warm without cooling fully.

Dean took a breath to call Castiel for what would’ve been the twentieth time, but in the end he shook his head and didn’t bother. He carried the pan by himself over to the pastry he’d prepared, and he poured it all in, scooping the edge clean with a spoon.

“So how have you been?” Charlie asked, taking off her long scarf of a dozen colours, hanging it on the back of a chair. “The place looks different.”

“Cleaner, I hope,” Dean smiled, carrying the pea to the table on its own plate, with the stick of broccoli in his other hand. “Since flower season’s over I have nothing to do except huddle up inside, cooking and tidying.”

“It’s not cleaner, per se,” Charlie said, looking around. “More, hummm... lived-in. Scruffier. But definitely the good kind of scruff. Comfortable.”

Dean snorted. “Comfortable! Huh. Tell that to my stress headache,” he muttered, spooning out a generous dollop of melted cheese on top of the piece of specially-made macaroni. He took a knife and a spork and cut the steaming macaroni curl into thirds, then served Charlie first. “Food’s ready, by the way. Didn’t think you’d want to wait before eating. I sure don’t.”

Charlie took her portion and beamed at it. She didn’t need to compliment Dean on his cooking out loud – one look and a smile, and Dean knew he’d done well. He took his seat, pulling his chair up to the table. He picked up his spork, but paused, looking thoughtfully at the entrance to the attic bedroom.

“What?” Charlie asked, following his line of sight.

Dean licked his lips. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

Charlie frowned, but she dug into her meal, quickly forgetting Dean’s distraction. “Mm, so good,” she muttered. Dean watched her eat for a while, then slowly began to pick at his own food.

Regardless of how warm the room was from the fireplace, their meal was already getting cold, and that bothered Dean. One third of everything was for Castiel, but unless he came down, he and Charlie might accidentally leave him nothing but scraps.

“So I was on my way to the East City – doing my thing, you know,” Charlie said, eyes wandering as she thought back, “and I run into this fairy. She was pulling a one-woman blimp behind her, and the engine’s right outta resin. I helped her drag the thing to the first filling station we found – pouring with rain, by the way – _pouring_. Me and her got talking while we waited for the tank to fill. Her name’s Gilda. She told me she started out a wind fairy, like me. Cloud-chasing, measuring the air – you know the drill. But she got sick of that, so she changed. Just like that. She’s a light-catcher now. She bottles lightning and rainbows, sometimes both on the same day, when the weather’s crazy. Can you imagine?”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, stirring cheese around his plate.

“Think of it, though,” Charlie went on, gesturing at Dean with her spork. “Imagine being so disconnected from the kind of fairy you were raised to be that you leave it behind. It’s like you or Sam suddenly deciding to strap on a pair of wind fairy wings and go fluttering about in a storm. Or Kevin giving up his books and taking up – I don’t know – burrowing. Deciding there and then to become a mole sprite.”

Dean poked at his half of the pea, watching the green centre crumble slightly. “Uh-huh,” he said. “What about, like... a bat sprite. But without wings.”

Charlie chuckled, reaching to carve herself some of the mushroom.

“I’m serious,” Dean said. “What if a bat sprite didn’t have wings? They’d be kind of like a ground fairy, right?”

“Sure, okay.”

“But what if they...” Dean glanced to the trap door, then back down to his plate. “What if they didn’t want to be in that situation? What if it all happened so fast, against their will – and they didn’t know how to cope with it?”

Charlie watched Dean curiously.

Dean swallowed. “What I mean is... What would you do? If you met someone like that. And you kind of liked them in a weird way, but you barely know anything about bat sprites, and Sam’s no help because he keeps going on and on about how it’s not normal for ground fairies and bat sprites to coexist peacefully – not after the war, at least – and if the guy’s gonna be so ungrateful for everything then he ought to learn some manners before I give him anything, but...” Dean sat back in his chair and sighed. “But I can’t just throw him out, you know? Yeah, he contributes nothing, and he refuses nearly everything I cook him, but he won’t leave.”

Charlie had stopped eating, staring at Dean.

Dean licked his lips. “I make it sound like it’s a bad thing he won’t leave. But he stays because he— I mean, I _think_ he stays because he likes it here. But Sam seems to think he’s just sticking around ‘cause he’s got no place else to go, and no-one else would let him drain their resources like I do. Because I’m a sucker for dewy-eyed strays, apparently. Huh!”

Charlie slowly opened her mouth, thinking quickly. “Exactly how long have you been harbouring a wingless bat sprite, Dean?”

“Nearly a whole Circuit of the Night Sun,” Dean said quietly, twirling his spork aimlessly around his plate. “He’s upstairs.”

Charlie’s eyes moved to the trap door, and she gazed in that direction for a while, staring.

“Sam’s under the impression he’s hostile,” Dean said. “But it wasn’t _Cas_ ’ fault Sam brought all four mice when he visited! I told him, he either brings his mice on leashes or not at all, but by that time it was too late, Cas was already huddled up at the back of the roof, perched on the rafters. I didn’t get him down for a whole day, after that. Poor guy. Freaked outta his mind.”

“When you say ‘hostile’,” Charlie started, “what would that entail, exactly?”

Dean huffed. “Hissing, mainly. Biting if you get too close. It’s really more of a warning, he doesn’t really strike unless physically provoked. I hit him with a broom the other day, by accident.”

“And what happened?”

Dean’s eyes went to the fire hearth, and Charlie’s eyes followed: the broom was in six chewed parts, stacked up, ready to be burnt.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Sharp teeth,” she added, in a light voice.

“Sharp tongue, too,” Dean mused. “He called me a dirty snub-nosed slug-faced speckled turnip-head.” Dean said this with a sad sigh. “I said he was overreacting and that I was sorry and he _screeched_ at me.”

“Screeched,” Charlie repeated. “How... _delightful_.”

“He’s getting better,” Dean said, but didn’t really feel it was the truth. “He doesn’t move the furniture to make a fort every time Squishbeans comes into the room now.” Dean lowered his eyes. While the statement was true by itself, Castiel was upstairs at present, having already made a fort between the trap door and the back of the room, distancing himself from Charlie.

“He, uh,” Dean said, pushing his plate away, “He hasn’t gone outside since the leaves started to turn brown. I caught him looking out the window the other day but that’s as close as he got to the real world.”

Charlie ate up what was left of her mushroom in thoughtful silence, then she dabbed at her pink lips with a napkin. “I’m going to go up and see him,” she said decisively. “Is there any food I can give him?”

Dean hesitated. “Uh— Yeah. Yeah, I got him some beetle scratchings,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he got to his feet. “I couldn’t bear to hunt the things myself, so I asked a favour from a friend of a friend and she gave me this.” Dean went to the kitchen and lifted a small sack of crusty black things from inside the cupboard, peering inside at their colourful shimmer, the way they caught the evening light in both green and purple at once. “I tried giving him some this morning for breakfast, but he noticed I was cooking; I said he wasn’t allowed to eat raw pastry mixture, and he went into a sulk. He hasn’t been down since.”

Charlie took the sack and tipped some scratchings onto her palm, examining them. She went to Dean’s cupboard and pulled out a bowl, then filled it the brim with the beetle bits.

“Just...” Dean fidgeted. “Go easy, okay? He looks tough and scary but he’s fragile inside. I don’t think Sam fully understood that. He didn’t think I should trust him at all. But I can’t help it... It’s like he _needs_ me...” Dean trailed off, giving Charlie an anxious look.

With a nod, Charlie carried the beetle bowl over to the ladder with both hands, wings fluttering agitatedly. Then she relaxed, and looked back at Dean with a smile. “Wish me luck.”

“Maybe I should come with you, make sure he doesn’t—”

“Dean, I’ll be fine,” Charlie said. “I’ve met enough bat sprites on my travels to know what I’m doing.”

Dean nodded, and stepped back. He trusted her. “Good luck.”

Charlie took hold of the ladder with one hand and climbed, balancing the beetle bowl in the other hand.

She reached the top of the ladder and looked about, surprised to find Dean’s bedroom arranged very differently to last time she’d seen it. Now the bed and the chest of drawers and the mirror were all piled up like a barricade, blocking off one corner of the shadowy room. The lantern was still where Dean’s nightstand would’ve been, if the nightstand hadn’t been holding up the wardrobe between Dean’s trinket ottoman and the wall.

“Hello?” Charlie called gently, edging closer to the fort. “Cas?” That was the name Dean used. She’d never heard a name like that before.

She crept closer, right up to the pile of stuff. “Knock-knock?”

“Ssss,” said the pile of stuff.

Charlie smiled. “I’m Charlie, I’m a good friend of Dean’s. I’ve brought you some... uh.” She looked down at the bowl. “Beetle Deluxe. Delicious, nutritious... kinda pretty. I think you’d like it.”

A head of scruffy hair and a blue eye peeked up from behind the sideways-turned bed. “Hssss,” said the bed.

Charlie lifted the bowl. “If you want it, you’ll have to come out.”

“No,” said the bed, and the scruffy hair and the blue eye ducked behind it again.

“You haven’t had any breakfast,” Charlie said, considerately. “You must be really hungry by now. The Sun’s going down, did you know?”

“Ssss,” came a muffled reply from deep at the base of the furniture. “I don’t _care_ about the Sun,” Cas said. “We live in darknesssss.”

Charlie’s shoulders sank inside her silk-wool sweater, and she pushed a small understanding smile between her lips. “Your tribe are all hibernating by now, aren’t they?”

No reply.

Charlie figured she’d hit the sore spot, but in the right way. Good. “Is that why you’re hiding back here?” she asked gently. “This is the closest to a cave you can get. But Dean won’t let you hibernate.”

Cas shifted, but still didn’t reply. He was quiet for a bit, then took a breath. “Mmmmay I please have the Beetle Deluxe.”

He didn’t say it like a question. Charlie could tell he was trying _very hard_ to be polite.

“Okay,” Charlie said. “Since you asked nicely.” She got closer to the fort, and leaned in with the bowl in her outstretched hands. Two pale hands – far paler than her own – reached up and took the bowl. She leapt back in alarm as a loud munching, licking noise erupted from behind the bed, almost monstrous.

Then came a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” Castiel said. His stomach gurgled loudly, surprised by all that food all at once.

“Um,” Charlie said, fingers twitching. “I think... I think Dean really wanted to see you today. He made all this food up, but there’s so much left... I can’t help but think he made a lot of it— Well, he made it for you. We’d both be grateful if you came down, at least for a few minutes. There’s nothing scary down there, it’s just me and Dean. Squishbeans is digging holes outside.”

One of Cas’ eyes came into view again, peering curiously at Charlie.

Charlie waved in a friendly way. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “Promise.”

Cas sighed, sinking back behind the bed. “He makes sssso much _food_.”

“Well, it’s not flower season any more. Dean’s a flower fairy – it’s his duty to tend to the plants when they’re in bloom. But it’s Autumntime now, there aren’t many flowers around at this time of year. The best he can do is wait until Springtime. He likes cooking, it’s how he passes the time.”

“But—” Cas seemed hesitant. “He makes it for _me_.”

Charlie felt her heart melting a bit, and she wasn’t even sure why, not at first.

Cas went on, “I don’t undersssstand why he’s so nice to me. I’ve sssscratched his ceiling and I broke his sweepy thing and I heard his brother tell him I’m a burden, but he keepsss on making me things.”

Charlie scratched her neck, nodding. “Well, I think that’s because he... you know, cares about you. He doesn’t want you to be hungry.”

“But _why_? I thought it wasss because he was scared of me, and I was glad. But he’ss not sscared of me at _all_.”

Charlie looked up, and saw Cas’ face fully. He leaned forward on the sideways bed, looking exasperated. He was a handsome fellow, with a fine jaw and – yes, dewy eyes, though they seemed tired. One thing that struck Charlie was that Cas looked as though he was in dire need of a hug.

Charlie swallowed. “Sometimes,” she said, “Dean likes people he has no real reason to like. Me, for example. I blew in through his front door once, one very windy day. Broke a chair, scared his mouse, and set his tablecloth on fire, but he gave me some dinner and helped me untangle my hair. I’ve been back every so often since then. I think he likes being surrounded by people he can look after, one way or another.”

Cas lowered his eyes, mouth open. “For how long, though?” he asked, quietly. “How long will he put up with... thisss?” He gestured at himself. “I don’t want to go outsside, I’ve gotten used to the warmth here and I don’t like the cold any more.” He hung his head. “I’m a disssgrace to my kind. No wings. A fondnessss for heat, and pie. And... flower fairies.” He said the last phrase with some disgust, but clearly directed at himself rather than Dean.

Charlie smirked. “You like Dean?”

Cas slowly sank down behind the bed. “He’sss much kinder to me than anyone ought to be.”

Ouch, Charlie thought. “Dean will look after you as long as you need looking after,” she said.

“All of Wintertime,” Dean added. Charlie turned around, startled to see Dean climbing up into the attic room, looking serious, even though he smiled. “Cas, if you need to stay here until it gets warm again, that’s fine by me.”

Charlie shot him a smile, and Dean returned it.

Then Dean moved closer to the pile of stuff, resting a hand on his wardrobe. “But, look, buddy,” he added, “this has gotta stop. If you want privacy, I can make you a little mouse-house up here. I hollowed this tree out myself, I know how to use a tool or two. You gotta quit moving the bed every time someone knocks on the front door.”

Castiel slowly peered up over the bed, his eyes pleading.

Dean started to smile wider, glad to see Castiel’s face for the first time since the morning. “Listen,” Dean said, lowering his head. “I heard what you said to Charlie, about my... my _kindness_ , or whatever you wanna call it. I don’t know what other self-depreciating mantras your bat sprite elders brainwashed you with, but around here, being one with darkness doesn’t mean you have to let that darkness skulk around the inside of your head, too. You deserve to be treated decently. Everyone does. Come out once in a while, all right? There’s plenty of quiet things you can do around here that won’t leave you all tuckered out.”

Castiel looked like he might cry.

Dean’s smile wibbled, and he reached out a hand, putting it on the side of the bed. “Come spend some time with us before Charlie goes home,” he said. “I’d appreciate it a lot. Okay?”

Castiel hesitated, but his hand touched Dean’s. Dean felt his insides light up, and he grinned. Castiel’s hand was warm and his eyes were grateful, and Dean even saw the hint of a smile on the corner of his lips.

Dean slid away and turned, still watching Castiel while heading for the trap door. “We’ll be downstairs,” Dean said gently. Charlie went down first, and Dean followed, looking over at Castiel until the last second.

Charlie and Dean stood together at the base of the ladder, smiling.

“That went well,” Charlie said.

Dean didn’t reply, just smiled. His eyes drifted, reliving the sight of Castiel’s smile over and over in his mind.

“We never finished eating,” Charlie said, turning back to the dinner table. She sat, and although the food was cold, she ate it anyway.

Dean sat beside her, picking at his food like before. He looked over at the trap door again and again, hoping and wishing to see a movement.

“Dean,” Charlie said, touching his arm. “Just eat. He’ll come down if he wants.”

“I— I know, but...” Dean peered up, still waiting.

After five minutes, Charlie had finished eating, Dean had barely started, and Castiel still wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Let’s just have the treacle tart,” Dean said despairingly, clearing up the leftovers of the first course. “There’s no point waiting if he’s not going to show.”

He turned away and carried the plates to the kitchen, trying not to let Charlie see the extent of his disappointment. All he’d wanted was for Cas to share some real quality time with him, and he’d so hoped having his least-intimidating friend over might’ve helped encourage Castiel out of his shell.

Jaw set, Dean cut the treacle tart into quarters. Two for him, two for Charlie. Castiel wasn’t here so he wasn’t going to get any.

But when Dean turned around to carry the tart to the table, there was Castiel, sitting at a chair next to Charlie, wrapped up in the blanket from Dean’s bed. He was scruffy and expressionless, with dark circles under his eyes, but his eyes met Dean’s, and Dean beamed.

“I cut an extra piece,” Dean said nonchalantly, pretending it wasn’t a big deal that Cas was here. “One for Charlie... one for me,” he served them both, then hesitated. He didn’t have a third plate on hand. “And two for Cas,” he said, pushing the serving plate over to Castiel. “Because he deserves a treat.”

Castiel leaned to sniff the treacle tart, and he smiled. “This smellsss... delightful,” he said. He said ‘delightful’ the same way Charlie had earlier, as if he’d heard the word for the first time when Charlie said it.

“Glad it’s appreciated,” Dean said, handing out sporks. “Dig in.”

They shared a companionable silence, each enjoying the sugary tart as much as their fellows. Castiel ate twice as fast as the others, and from the gobbly-licky- _mmm_ noises he was making, enjoyed it twice as much.

“Methinks your attic-dwelling bat friend has a sweet tooth,” Charlie said, grinning at Castiel as he slurped his plate clean, forked tongue flicking up in swift strokes.

“Methinks you’re right,” Dean said, eyes wide. He chuckled. “Was that good, Cas?”

“Hmmmh,” Castiel said, squinty-eyed and smiling. He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and purred, only the top half of his face visible.

“Well, that solves a lot of problems,” Dean said, clearing up the plates with Charlie’s help. “From now on he can eat bugs and sweet pastries, and that’s him sorted. Let’s keep the vegetables between you and me. He doesn’t need them, and that leaves more for us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Charlie sang, ruffling Castiel’s hair as she went past. Castiel hissed, but in a teasing way. Charlie laughed and noogied him again, and Dean felt his toes curling in joy when Castiel hid all the way under the blanket, trying not to laugh.

Charlie caught Dean’s eyes, and she grinned. “ _Cute,_ ” she mouthed.

Dean smiled gently, rubbing the back of his neck. When he went back to the table, he saw Castiel watching him from inside the blanket. On impulse, Dean winked at him. Castiel sank lower into his cocoon and closed up the gap, turning himself into a blanket lump. Dean was amused.

An hour later, when Charlie had said her farewells and fluttered off home, Dean flopped down beside Castiel on the pile of pillows that served as a couch. He patted Castiel’s knee through his pyjamas, giving him a squeeze.

“I like Charlie,” Castiel said.

“Yeah?”

Castiel nodded.

They were quiet for a while, watching the fire crackle from across the room.

“I think I would like to help you cook tomorrow,” Castiel said. “But only a little bit.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re gonna be zonked out all day, buddy.” He looked over at Castiel, watching the firelight dance in his eyes. “Don’t jump in the deep end. Take it slow. Rest tomorrow, then... who knows? Maybe I’ll have a nice, easy recipe for you to try the day after.”

Castiel peered at him, looking hopeful.

Dean chuckled, patting his knee again. “Go on,” he said. “Go take a nap, I know you’re exhausted.”

Castiel got to his feet moments after Dean did, and Dean had to pause, held back by Castiel’s hand. He looked back, seeing Castiel gaze at him with an unsure stare.

Castiel twitched forward, then went all the way, resting his cheek on Dean’s shoulder.

“Uh?” Dean said, blinking a few times. Was Castiel _hugging_ him?

Castiel rubbed his face on Dean’s shoulder, eyes shut. Then he stepped back, blushing.

Dean stared, dumbfounded. “What was that for?”

Castiel shrugged, eyes darting from side to side, then down. “Thank you for feeding me.”

Dean laughed, patting Castiel’s neck softly. “No problem, Cas.”

Castiel’s hesitance turned to a genuine smile, and he seemed comfortable and relaxed for the first time since he’d set foot in Dean’s life. It made Dean’s heart float to see it.

Castiel went over to the ladder, trailing the end of the blanket behind him as he went. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean smiled, watching him go. “G’night,” he called after him. “Sleep well.”

Castiel disappeared through the gap in the ceiling. A few seconds later, Dean heard the bed being moved back where it was supposed to be.

Dean bit his lip, grinning. He would never have imagined Charlie could have this much of a positive influence on a bat sprite so greatly disabled, but oh, what a change today had made.

Dean went towards the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves to start the washing-up. He smiled as he did it, and hummed a little too. He felt full of hope, now – the kind of hope he’d been missing before. Castiel was far from being a lost cause. Dean had no doubts whatsoever that no matter how many ups and downs Castiel might have in the near future, there was no giving up now. If Dean had any say in how things went, Castiel was going to be functional sooner or later. Dean was _determined_ to see that smile again.

Yeah. Cas had a damn beautiful smile. Fangs and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying this so far! (I am. This 'verse makes me all happy inside.)  
> Plenty of Squishbeans + Cas interaction will be featured next chapter! Subscribe to the story below, or hit 'subscribe' on [this page](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi), and you'll be sent an email when the story updates. ♥ヽ(◠ᴗ◠✿)  
> (If you're already subscribed, bless you. You guys are the best.)


	3. The Leaves Are Brown and The Skies Are Grey; Home is A Warm Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** for [fantastic racism](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/FantasticRacism)??

Castiel had almost finished decorating the fireplace mantle when Dean arrived. Dean came into the tree stump along with a great big gust of cold air, and Castiel shivered under his wing, wrapping the leathery appendage tighter over his back.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean grunted, fighting with the wind to get the door closed. Before Castiel could put down his box of paint and get up to help, Dean won his fight and sagged forward against the door when it slammed.

“Hello, Dean. How was your morning?” Castiel asked, turning back to the fireplace. Embers burned low, heating his knees and thighs and the front of his neck, also providing some light so he could see what he was painting.

Dean strode over to Castiel, unbuckling his flower armour as he went. “Not bad,” he said, stopping at Castiel’s side. He bent forward, examining what Castiel had painted. “Hey, not _bad_ ,” he said again, this time referring to the leaves and flowers Castiel had applied in swirled colours all across the front of the mantle. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Look,” Castiel said proudly, pointing at the miniature rendition of Squishbeans on the very corner of the painted border.

“Nice,” Dean said, grinning. “Squishy’s outside with Bumble right now. I got them hitched to the sleigh already. Are you ready to go?”

Castiel sighed, folding up his paint box with his paintbrushes inside. “How cold is it outssside?”

Dean shrugged, stretching his shoulders before putting his chestplate on again. “Sunny. But there’s an eager breeze – you might wanna put a sweater on.”

Castiel went up into the attic bedroom and found a sweater. Then he found another one, and he put that on too.

When he came downstairs to meet Dean, he was wearing three sweaters and a scarf.

Dean laughed. “It’s not _that_ cold.”

“I’d rather not take any chancess,” Castiel said, turning his back to Dean so Dean could help him do up the buttons below the wing holes. “Actually, I think I would like if Charlie should make me another sssweater for Winter Solstice.”

Dean chuckled. He swept his hands down the joints of Castiel’s wings, then stepped away. “You’re a sweater addict, you know that?”

Castiel beamed, lifting his wings out to his sides. One only came to his shoulder, but the other spread wide, so wide his claw touched the tablecloth and got caught in the fibres.

Dean rolled his eyes and went to untangle Castiel’s wing before the crockery ended up on the floor again.

“Where are we going today?” Castiel asked, tucking his wings neatly behind him, trying his best not to get in Dean’s way when he picked up his grappling hooks.

“Uh, there’s a blackberry thicket about ten minutes Westwards,” Dean said. “The berries on the outside are all gone but there’s plenty of fruit on the inside that the birds haven’t gotten to yet.”

Castiel nodded and stepped forward, helping Dean do up the difficult buckle on the lowest part of his armoured chestplate. The braided vines were shredded at the ends but Castiel managed to secure them.

Dean sighed, patting his hands on the tulip petal armour over his heart. “Dammit,” he muttered. “I think I might need some new armour soon. Resined petals are great and all, but once you’ve been wearing the same one for six Circuits, you’re wearing more bruised petal than actual petal.”

“It think it looksss better bruised,” Castiel said, tracing a fingertip along the patterns in the resin. “You seem more like a seasoned warrior.”

Dean grinned, head down. “I’m not a warrior,” he muttered. “Not like you were.”

Castiel shrugged, looking away. “Is it fair to call me that?” he wondered. “My tribe were... ssself-sserving. You said a warrior is meant to ssupport those he loves no matter the cost to himssself.” Castiel looked back into Dean’s green eyes, smiling when he saw them glisten. “You care for your family. It’ss not your duty to hunt berries but you do it anyway.”

Dean scoffed, turning for the door. “I’m getting berries because I need to trade them for grains,” he said, opening the door for Castiel, then following him out into the blustering wind. He went on, voice raised to be heard over the _whooo-wheeee_ of the wind, “And then I can swap some grains for sugar so you have something to make your tea bearable.”

Castiel trotted down the steps from Dean’s front door, smiling. The Sun was warm on his face, and even though the trees all around were drab and brown, they seemed alive in the rush, dry leaves clacking together like applause.

Castiel came to the path at the end of Dean’s leaf-covered lawn, and he halted there.

“What’s the hold-up?” Dean asked, edging around Castiel.

Ahead of Castiel was a sleigh made of acorn shells, the pieces mosaiced flat and polished. It was empty but for a giant basket in the back, and a set of reins which lay draped across the front end. Attached to the reins were two mice, who jittered and skittered in place, anxious to go somewhere.

“Bumble’s just as gentle as Squishbeans,” Dean assured Castiel, leaning close and taking Castiel’s hand, trying to pull him close to the sleigh. Castiel pulled back, suddenly very uneasy.

“Cas,” Dean said softly, his eyes going tender. He still held Castiel’s hand, stepping into his space. “What’s up?”

“I— I don’t want to go hunting,” Castiel said. “I’m—” He looked down. “I’m tired,” he lied. Really he just wanted to go back inside and paint some more, where the air was warm and the light was dim, and there were no mice squeaking and swishing their whip-like tails through fallen leaves.

Dean looked at the sleigh and the mice, then back at Castiel.

With a tug, he eased Castiel away from the tree stump. Castiel resisted, but Dean went on pulling. “Just humour me for a minute,” Dean said. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

Castiel followed closely at Dean’s back, taking small steps towards the mice.

Dean let Castiel go when they were paces away, and he went forward alone, crouching in front of Squishbeans.

Squishbeans sniffed at Dean’s face happily, squeaking a hello. Dean laughed and scritched her chin, ruffling up her brown fur. “Hey, girl,” he said to her. Dean looked over at Castiel. “C’mere.”

Castiel swallowed, but stepped up to Dean. He’d petted Squishbeans before. She wasn’t so bad, not really... His breath hitched as he reached out and put his hand on her head. She sniffed him, pink nose wriggling up until it tickled his wrist. Castiel laughed, retracting his hand and wiping it on his stripy rainbow sweater.

“Good,” Dean said, standing up and reaching for Castiel’s hand. “Now Bumble.”

Castiel whined.

“Cas, come on,” Dean said, easing him a step to the left. “I wouldn’t have borrowed her from Sam unless I was sure she was a nice mouse, would I?”

Castiel kept his body angled away, ready to run, but he allowed Dean to guide his hand down to touch Bumble’s head. She was furry and warm like Squishbeans, but darker in colour and more interested in his smell. Castiel trembled but stayed as still as he could, letting Bumble sniff his hand, then his legs. Then she lost interest and began nibbling a brown leaf.

“There,” Dean grinned, walking away. Castiel scrambled after him, heading around the sleigh to get to the door at the side. “That wasn’t so bad,” Dean said, patting Castiel’s arm.

“Hm,” Castiel said. He tugged nervously on his sweater.

Dean gazed at him for a bit, a fond smile pulling at his lips. “Are you ready to go now?” he asked. “Or were you not kidding when you said you were tired?”

Castiel thought about going back inside, but then he supposed he might regret it later, when Dean came home with freshly-picked berries and had stories to tell about his adventure, and Castiel had nothing to tell stories about except mixing paints into new colours.

“Okay,” Castiel said. “I’ll come with you.”

Dean’s eyes lit up and he leapt forward, squeezing Castiel in a brief hug. “Finally!” he cheered, turning for the sleigh and opening the door. “You get in first, buddy. I’ll drive.”

Castiel climbed into the sleigh and sat down on the smooth wood seat, hands tucked together between his knees. His good wing was bent with the curve of the seat, but the other one fluttered in the wind. It fluttered even more as soon as Dean clacked the reins and the sleigh started moving.

“I love driving,” Dean said, as soon as they’d left the tree stump behind. “Don’t you?”

“It’s okay,” Castiel said. It was bumpy and the open view was slightly overwhelming, but he didn’t like to complain.

Before them was a forest of brown. Dead leaves tumbled across the dirt, where in Summertime there’d been green grass and flowers everywhere. The mice pulled the sleigh in leaps and bounds, little paws scampering, their long tails following the sleek shapes their bodies made with every bounce.

They passed tall trees with branches that went so high Castiel couldn’t see their tops, and they passed the burrows and front doors of their neighbours. Midday in Autumntime was not as bright as it ought to be, and Castiel could see lights on inside the homes of the other fairies.

“I’ve never been this far,” he said, once they’d been travelling for a few minutes.

“Not long now,” Dean replied. “Almost there.”

The Garden was more alive here; blackberry tangles rose from within heaps of fallen leaves, berries gleaming, thorns sharp. The brambles twisted in wiry curves, each strand of the bush shaped like a thin arch, speckled with green leaves.

“Ah,” Dean said, pulling on the reins. “I think this one ought to do.”

The sleigh eased to a halt beside a tall, rather imposing blackberry bush. The Sun filtered through the trees at Castiel’s back, sprinkling the bush and the space around it with golden light, making the berries sparkle.

“Out we get,” Dean said, opening up the side of the sleigh. He went to the front of the sleigh and loosened the reins on the mice, so they could wander away but not get lost.

Dean smiled when he saw Castiel was already out of the sleigh. He went and got his tools, and he handed Castiel a grappling hook, then a knife tucked into holder on a belt.

Castiel put his belt on, copying what Dean did. Dean then took his grappling hook in hand. It had been a scary-looking thing when Castiel had first seen it. Dean held the handle like he would hold a dagger, and from there, four sharp spikes curved backwards towards his hand. The other end of the handle was attached to a long braided vine, and Dean held onto that vine when he began swinging the hooked end around and around, eyes on the bush ahead.

The grappling hook flew up in a graceful arc, and latched onto a horizontal branch of the blackberry tangle on Dean’s first try. The vine dangled all the way to the ground, ready to be climbed.

“Now you go,” Dean said.

Castiel tried, but he only threw the hook a few paces upwards before it fell down again.

Dean told Castiel to pull the hook closer and throw it again.

And again.

And again.

“I’m no good at thissss,” Castiel said, scowling at the hook. “You should get berries without me.”

Dean was about to reply, probably to tell Castiel that was nonsense, when he was interrupted by a gruff voice.

“Ain’t Wintertime and it ain’t Summertime,” said the voice, “so I don’t see the point of it.”

A softer, placating voice replied from nearby, “Oh, honestly, Bobby! Squirrel sprites are meant to _flourish_ in Autumntime.”

“Hmph!” said the first voice. “Flourishing is for the young. The only flourishing I’m prepared for is watchin’ baby acorns start to grow once Wintertime’s over.”

Dean looked around, curious about the voices. “Hello?”

Castiel hissed under his breath. “Don’t draw their attention,” he said, eyes darting about. “They may be hossssstile.”

“What’s that noise?” said the gruff voice. “Jody, did ya hear some kinda snake just now?”

“Snake?” asked Jody. “No.”

“Hello?” Dean called again. “It’s me, Dean.”

“Dean!” Castiel whined.

“It’s okay, Cas – I know them. They’re friends,” Dean smiled. “Bobby! Jody, it’s me.”

“I _did_ hear somethin’ that time,” Bobby said. “Sounds like...”

Castiel gasped as he saw an old, grey squirrel sprite come out from inside the blackberry tangle, tufty ears swivelling from underneath a blue hat with a rim. Castiel had never seen another sprite before. Bobby looked like Dean did: he dressed the same, in tough trousers and a shirt, but he had a grey squirrel’s tail at his back, moving in sharp one-two twitches.

“Heya, Bobby,” Dean grinned, going to greet the old man with a hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Eh,” Bobby said, looking unimpressed. “Not enough acorns this year.”

Bobby was joined by another squirrel sprite, this one smiley and far lighter in her step. She had a red tail and copper-brown hair, cropped short, and her pale face was slim and cheerful. “Oh, who do we have here?” she asked, looking right at Castiel.

“Hss,” Castiel said.

“What sorta name is that?” Bobby said, scowling.

Dean laughed, striding over to Castiel’s side, patting his back. “This here is Cas,” he said, rubbing Castiel’s good wing. “He’s the bat sprite I told you about, remember?”

Bobby looked suspicious. “Nothin’ good about a bat sprite, not in my experience.”

“Bobby!” Jody said scoldingly, elbowing Bobby in the side. She walked forward, her eyes friendly as she came up to Castiel. “Hi, I’m Jody.”

Castiel gulped.

Dean nudged Castiel in the side and gave him an encouraging look.

“Hello,” Castiel said. He looked down at his feet.

“Are you here for the berries?” Jody asked.

Castiel glanced up, realising she was still talking to him. “Are there ssstill some berries left?”

“Oh, tons,” she smiled. “Come on and we’ll show you.”

Dean grinned, giving Castiel’s sweater a tug. “Get the basket, buddy,” he said, and went ahead with Jody.

When Castiel had lugged the basket right up to the bush, Dean was deep in conversation with Bobby and Jody. Castiel cleared his throat quietly.

Dean separated from the other two, putting on a smile. “I’ll climb,” he said. “You can figure out your grappling hook some other time, all right?”

That suited Castiel perfectly, so he nodded.

Standing by the basket, Castiel watched Dean wrap his hands around the dangling vine, then anchor his shoes into it, then begin to climb. Up and up he went, moving with grunts, scooting his way up the rope.

Castiel took hold of the end of the rope, putting all his weight on it so it wouldn’t move around and Dean could climb more easily.

“My, my,” Jody said, sticking her hands on her hips, watching Dean from beside Castiel. “He’d do well as a squirrel sprite with climbing skills like that.”

“Dean’s good at everything,” Castiel said, surprising himself: he’d said a whole sentence to a stranger and hadn’t even worried about it until afterwards. He swallowed, then added, “He’ssss no good at painting, though. I tried to get him to paint a leaf and he made it look like an aphid by missstake.”

Jody laughed happily, her bushy tail sweeping across the leaves. “Dean told us you liked to paint,” she smiled.

Castiel nodded, looking down. “Dean...” He breathed unsteadily, then continued quietly, so Dean didn’t hear, “Dean spent half a Circuit braiding a hammock. I thought it was for me, and I said to him I didn’t need it, but then one day it was gone. And Dean gave me a box of colours with a paintbrush and some paper. He’d traded the hammock so he could get a paint box for me.”

“Oh, that was nice of him,” Jody said.

Castiel gripped the rope harder with both hands, resting his cheek against his fists. “I used all the paper up, and Dean said I could paint the walls. So I did.” He started to smile, and his eyes rose to watch Dean clambering off the rope and onto the blackberry tangle, pulling his knife out of his belt. “Dean says I make the place look brighter.”

“I’m sure you do,” Jody said sweetly.

“Yeah, right,” said Bobby, a few paces away. “That’s his way of keeping you outta his hair, that’s all it is.”

Castiel watched Bobby fold his arms and glare up at Dean. Feeling anxious now, Castiel lowered his eyes, looking at the leaves. As much as Castiel liked to think Dean enjoyed finding artworks hidden all over his tree stump home, it made a lot more sense that he only allowed the practice to continue in order to placate Castiel. As kind as Jody was, Bobby was easier to believe.

“Look out below!” shouted Dean.

Castiel was surprised as a berry cluster twice the size of his head whizzed past his ear and tumbled into the empty basket, pattering down against the wicker weave. It left a purple juice stain where it had bounced.

“The berries are soft!” Castiel shouted up. “You have to drop them more gently.”

“Gotcha!” Dean replied. “Catch this one for me, would you?” And he dropped a berry.

Castiel thought quickly, and flared out his good wing, catching the berry on the soft membrane. He let it roll gently off his wing and into the basket. “Ha!” he said triumphantly.

“And another!”

Castiel caught berry after berry, grinning as he tipped them into the basket, slowly filling it. Dean would disappear into the blackberry bush for minutes at a time, then return with his arms full of berries. He tried to drop them one by one, but it didn’t always work; Castiel learned to move fast, catching five at once – two in the basket, two on his wing, and one in his hand, stretching out to snatch it before it smashed on the leaves below.

Dean whooped in celebration, punching the air. Castiel laughed, overjoyed for a moment.

But, as soon as Dean disappeared back inside the bush, Castiel felt bland again. The wind chilled his ears and his nose, and his fingers felt numb. He could hear Bobby and Jody talking quietly, and he felt like they were talking about him. It didn’t feel good.

Then Dean emerged, and it was like the Sun came out. All of Castiel’s world was warm and bright, and he smiled easily, catching berries as they rained down. No worry of what Dean really thought of him crossed his mind, and even Bobby’s harrumphing didn’t bother him much.

Soon the basket was full, and Castiel had to shout up to Dean, “No more! We have enough now!”

Dean gave a salute of acknowledgement, and he wiped his hands together while standing proudly on the peak of a bramble arch. Castiel wondered how he was going to get down, since the grappling hook was stuck. Castiel was not surprised at all when Dean did something very clever: he unhooked the vine from the thorny branch and slipped it over, so the rope draped either side of the branch. He twisted the rope around the hook and set one foot on it, then the other – and then he let go of the branch and travelled down the rope, standing on the hook, able to adjust his speed by squeezing his feet together.

He slid to the ground like he was on a ride, and he grinned when he hopped down to the leaves without even breaking a sweat.

Castiel pulled the rope and it whipped up and over the branch, then came down in a spiral, collecting up at Dean’s feet.

“And that’s that!” Dean said, beaming. He was covered in berry juice, looking accomplished. But upon a second glance, Castiel realised some of that berry juice was not juice at all.

“Dean, you’re hurt!” Castiel cried, both hands grabbing Dean’s jaw and turning his face one way then the other, seeing tiny cuts from thorns all over his skin.

“Hey!” Bobby snapped, marching up to Castiel and shoving him. “Take your dirty paws off his throat, or I’ll choke you just the same!”

Castiel flared his wings out and snarled at Bobby, instantly defensive. “Get back, tree-mite! How dare you push me!”

Bobby’s tail puffed up and he glared with equal force. “Don’t you touch Dean,” he growled.

“Bobby...” Dean tried to distract the old man, but Bobby batted his hand away.

“He was ready to strangle you,” Bobby said. “Don’t let this animal anywhere near you, ya hear me?”

“Bobby,” Dean chuckled. “Cas wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He blinked. “Well, _flies_ , maybe, but not fairies.”

Castiel hung back, working his jaw in angry bites, trying not to snarl any more. He caught Jody’s eye, and noticed her unsure look. She didn’t know what Castiel had tried to do, but she clearly wasn’t as convinced of his innocence as Dean.

“I only wanted...” Castiel gave Dean a sorry look. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t badly hurt.”

“I know,” Dean huffed. “Cas, you don’t have to explain.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Dean took Castiel by the sleeve and pulled him all the way to the sleigh. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll get the basket.”

Dean went over to basket, but he stopped to talk to Bobby and Jody. Castiel wished he could hear what was said, but the wind skittered over the leaves and distorted words into difficult noises, and Castiel couldn’t tell a grumble from a chuckle.

Dean and Jody eventually picked up the basket together. Castiel went to sit in the sleigh, waiting for them to reach him. Jody smiled, but it wasn’t an easygoing smile like before. Dean’s face looked grim.

“See you around, Jody,” Dean said at last, patting Jody on the back. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” Jody said, double-checking the basket was properly secured inside the sleigh behind Castiel’s seat. “Let me know when you’re free, won’t you? I’d love to come ‘round sometime.”

“Sure thing,” Dean said. Castiel sensed tension in his smile. He quickly realised it wasn’t a real smile.

As soon as Jody had gone back to Bobby and they’d vanished inside the bush, Dean sighed.

“They don’t like me,” Castiel said plainly.

Dean didn’t try and argue. He secured the mice, then hopped into the driver’s seat, turning the sleigh around. They slid through crunchy leaves and mushy leaves alike, heading back towards Dean’s tree stump in silence.

After a minute, Dean took a breath to speak. “Bobby fought in the war,” he said. “He fought for the ground fairies. Led his own battalion, in fact. Jody was barely a grown-up, but she was his second-in-command.”

Castiel swallowed, fiddling with his trousers. “They think all bat sprites are the same.”

“Well – they are,” Dean said. He shot Castiel a tense look. “Bat sprites _are_ all the same. Until you lost your wings you were just like them.”

Part of Castiel wanted to take offence. Until last season, the bat sprites had been his family, his life. Their history and culture was _his_ history and culture. But having distanced himself from all that, and having learned a new way, he found there were things he’d believed in the past that he couldn’t agree with any more.

Castiel watched the ground whoosh past under the sleigh, and he spoke quietly, “There are things I had to unlearn very quickly. Washing in fresh water is important to you, and I came to enjoy that. You eat _root vegetables_ – I can’t understand why you’d want them in your mouth, but you like them. But there’s things you eat that I like too. We didn’t have pies in the caves.”

Dean smiled, and steered the sleigh around a rock.

“But,” Castiel said, “there are ways my tribe were more efficient than your tribes. We didn’t need to trade in anything, we didn’t need to argue about who gets what. We took it in turns to lead the swarm, we ate what we needed, and those who were too slow were left behind.” He hugged himself, fingers stretching out to touch the ragged end of his missing wing. “If I weren’t cast out of the Heavens, I’d only slow them down. It’s better I’m apart from them. They don’t need me.”

Dean shook his head. “They _should_ need you. Down here, family means nobody gets left behind. It doesn’t matter if all you’re good at is painting tiny flowers around a fireplace, Cas – that’s valuable. I like seeing them. I woke up yesterday and I saw a maple leaf painted on my nightstand and I smiled.”

“But you can’t trade in smiles,” Castiel said sadly.

“No,” Dean agreed. “But I can’t be the only one who would want maple leaves on my nightstand, right? Bet you anything you could ask Missouri if she wants pinecones painted on her treehouse door and she’d happily swap that for one of those knitted blankets she makes.”

Castiel thought about that for a while, fantasising about sitting about in places all over the neighbourhood, painting doors and chimneys, wearing five sweaters at once and swinging his legs from a branch, then being offered a mug of warm, steaming tea through an open window.

“Anyway,” Dean said, as they pulled up to the front of his tree stump house, “my point is, Bobby’s wrong about you. Just like Sam was wrong about you. You’ll find a way to integrate here. Then they’ll see. Just because bat sprites hiss when they talk doesn’t mean you can’t pronounce a kind word or two. There’s nothing wrong with you.” Dean seemed forceful as he spoke now. “You’re different. So what? You’re doing your best. If there’s anyone who needs to change their thinking, it’s everyone _else_.”

Castiel climbed out of the sleigh, watching Dean with a grateful kind of wonder. He helped Dean carry the berries to the front door, then they went back to unhitch the mice from the sleigh.

Dean grinned at Bumble, murmuring praises and ruffling her fur. Castiel supposed Squishbeans might feel left out, so went and sat on the front step, called her name, then waited for Squishbeans to join him. She padded up to him and pushed straight against his outstretched hand, accepting his touch.

Castiel petted her for a while, running his fingers through her lovely fur. She chittered in pleasure as he scratched under her chin, and she turned her head so his fingers got the right spot. Slowly, Squishbeans’ eyes closed tight, totally relaxed. Castiel smiled, honoured the she trusted him like that.

“I’m different,” Castiel said quietly. He smiled at Squishbeans when she peeked at him curiously through one half-open eye. “I’m different and Dean doesn’t mind.”

Squishbeans squeaked softly.

“Come on,” Dean said eventually, joining Castiel on the front step, pushing open the front door. “I still gotta make dinner.”

Castiel and the two mice followed Dean inside in the warmth. While the mice scurried around the dining table excitedly, chasing each other’s tails, Castiel shed his layers of colourful sweaters and hung them over a chair.

Dean washed his hands and immediately began preparing dinner, but Castiel didn’t think that was right. He went to Dean’s side and undid his armour for him, and Dean let him remove it, still pulling bowls and pans out of cupboards.

“Dean,” Castiel said, stilling Dean’s hands. “You’re hurt; you don’t need to do this.”

“What are you going to eat, huh?” Dean nudged Castiel to the side and went back to pulling ingredients together.

“Dean,” Castiel said again. He pushed his way between Dean and the kitchen work surface. “Let me do dinner today.”

Dean looked incredulous, but then he saw the resolve in Castiel’s eyes. “Seriously?”

“Go and wash your face,” Castiel said gently, touching his fingers to Dean’s cut jaw. “I’ll make us something.”

“Like what?”

Castiel squinted, thinking. “I can make jam.”

“For dinner?!”

“Yes,” Castiel said, rolling up his sleeves as he turned around to wash his hands under the kitchen pump. “We have bread. And peanut butter. We can have sandwiches.”

Dean chuckled, but he muttered agreement, and soon disappeared through the door on the left of the kitchen, which led straight to the washroom.

Castiel put away all the things Dean had set out, and instead got some of the berries they’d picked. He washed them clean; he found a few bugs and ate them as he went, since it would be a waste to let them wash down the drain. Then he piled up some thin logs in the fireplace, getting the fire going so it would be hot later.

Castiel blinked hard to keep his eyes open. He’d done more today than he had since he’d arrived here, and it was no surprise he was tired. But he kept on pushing himself to stay awake. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he’d gotten so far already that kept him going.

He smushed up the berries in a bowl, and gleefully added twenty entire grains of sugar from the sack in the cupboard. He licked his lips, watching the sugar dissolve in the fruit juice, enjoying the process a great deal.

Dean came into the main room dressed in his cozy robe, and he stood next to Castiel for a while, observing how he cooked. Castiel put all the jam in a pot and set it to heat on the fire. Together he and Dean waited as each bubble rose to the surface, and as they watched, the jam was eventually brought to the boil. The smell of fresh jam made Castiel’s mouth water, but it wasn’t ready yet – when he stirred it, it was far too runny.

“How long is this going to take?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, holding back a yawn. His eyes felt twitchy, and his back was aching.

Since there was no point both of them waiting, Dean went and dragged the tub out from under the kitchen sink, then pushed it into the washroom. He was gone for a while.

Castiel tried to stay awake, walking around a bit, stretching, jumping up and down. He even attempted to paint some more while the jam cooked, but he was so tired that he mixed the colours all wrong, and he didn’t want a puce-coloured squirrel on the fireplace mantle, so he put his paint away again.

When Dean returned after his bath, Castiel was glad to see him looking fresh and relaxed. His cuts even looked part-way healed. But Castiel was wavering on his feet, and the whole world looked droopy and the air was heavy on his shoulders.

“Oh...” Dean spoke so gently. “Cas, you’re exhausted.”

Castiel blinked too slowly, and realised Dean had already pulled the jam off the heat.

“C’mere,” Dean said. He scooped Castiel up in his arms – oh! – and he held him close as he carried him across the room.

“Dean?” Castiel asked. “What... what’re you doing?”

Dean hushed Castiel, carrying him carefully up the ladder. “You need to go to sleep, Cas.”

“But your dinner...”

“I can eat a peanut butter sandwich without jam, it’s no big deal,” Dean replied, smiling. They entered the attic, where it was warmer than downstairs, and the light was dim. Dean seemed to glow with a comfortable heat, and the smell of soap on his skin was intoxicating.

Castiel found his aches relieved by Dean’s bed; the blankets were _blissfully_ soft.

“Sleep here tonight,” Dean said, kneeling at the side of the bed, his torso craning part-way over Castiel’s. “You’re totally shattered, Cas. I’d worry you’d fall off the ceiling if you slept upside-down.”

“I’m not that tired,” Castiel lied. His vision was already fading.

“Shhh,” Dean hushed.

Castiel felt a funny touch on his forehead, and his eyes opened in surprise. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That... that touch,” Castiel slurred. His hand flopped up to pat his forehead. “Jussst here.”

Dean grinned, his face so close to Castiel’s that Castiel felt the warmth of his breath. “That was a goodnight kiss, buddy.”

“What’s a kiss?” Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Dean’s eyes rounded, his expression morphing into one of intrigue. “Don’t bat sprites kiss?”

Castiel was confused.

“A kiss...” Dean exhaled. “A kiss is like this.” Dean leaned down, lips pursed. He pressed his lips to Castiel’s cheek. Then he rose up again.

“What’sss it for?”

Dean grinned and bit his lip. “For showing... y’know. Affection. And so I can say thank you for coming out with me today. You made berry-hunting fun again.”

“Hmmm,” Castiel said, eyelids sliding closed again. His head sank deeper into Dean’s pillow, and he felt Dean draping a blanket over him.

But then he felt Dean pulling away, and Castiel frowned. “Noo,” he said.

“Noo?” Dean repeated.

Castiel tugged on Dean’s robe with a weak hand. “Hrmmnh.”

Dean seemed to understand that unintelligible request. His weight dipped the bed, and Castiel sighed happily as Dean lay down beside him. He was nice and warm.

Nice ‘n warm ‘n clean ‘n cuddly.

Dean let out a breathy, nervous laugh. “Okay,” he whispered. “Just this once.”

Castiel took a deep breath, then wrapped his good wing around Dean so he couldn’t sneak away. Satisfied with this, Castiel smiled, nuzzled Dean, then fell straight to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, long chapter today. ~~It might be a while (read: more than a week) until the next update.~~ Ever since I started posting this story, I haven't actually touched the DCBB I was meant to be working on, as I'd been busy with this and other stories ([A Postcard for Castiel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4716623) in particular). Funny how I'm most productive when I'm meant to be doing something else...  
>  Anyway, until next time – here's wishing you all some happy days and restful sleep! ･ﾟ*:･｡·･ﾟ*.✧


	4. Night Falls Too Early; Snow Falls Along With It

“A little higher,” Dean called.

Castiel shifted the paper decorations upwards another millimetre.

“A bit to the left.”

Castiel moved again, standing on his tippy-toes on a three-legged wooden stool.

“Yeah. Yep, that’s good,” Dean said in satisfaction. “Pin it down.”

Castiel pulled a pin from between his lips, and poked it into where he held the paper decorations. Now a string of snowflakes hung draped from above the fireplace, all the way around the hollow tree.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Castiel got down off the stool and wiped his hands together. He was wrapped up in his warmest sweater – a thick, plush royal blue one. Though he kept rolling the sleeves to his elbows, they’d fall down one at a time and cover his hands, so all day, his sleeves had been at different lengths.

Dean went up to Castiel’s side and patted his back gently. “Everyone will be here in a few minutes,” he said, peering about the room. “Is everything in place?”

“It looks perfect, Dean,” Castiel assured him. He took a look around too, admiring the setup of their nest.

The fireplace glowed hot, lighting up the whole room. Dean had brought in a circle of seats especially for tonight, and six of them surrounded the fire, leaving a wide berth so nobody would get too hot. Some armchairs were tall with winged sides, others had armrests, and one of them was just a footstool, all dressed up in embroidered finery. Castiel had never seen such magnificence in all his life. He was only an attic-dweller, but tonight he felt like he was part-prince.

Dean exhaled in a contented way, both hands on his hips. He’d worked tirelessly for _days_ to make tonight special, and it really showed. Castiel had helped – he’d made trifle, and date pudding, and had seasoned the roast vegetables, and of course he’d done most of the decorating single-handedly – but this was really Dean’s triumph. The whole place smelled marvellous, like cooking spices and myrrh. Altogether, it conjured up a Wintertime heat inside Castiel that he’d never felt before.

“You still nervous?” Dean asked, gazing at Castiel softly.

Castiel nodded. He looked over at the Solstice Twig, which was planted in a pot in the corner of the room. The Twig was an offcut of a fir branch, the four inches from the very end of it. The Twig gleamed in the firelight, its tiny glass ornaments sparkling bright, colourful paper chains peeking from between its green spines. On the top of the Twig was a paper bat sprite, which Dean had made himself.

“They’re going to say I don’t belong,” Castiel said, staring at the paper bat sprite. “I’ve never given Solstice gifts before; I’ve never sung a carol. I don’t understand what any of this is about. I usually sleep through Wintertime, Dean.” He looked sadly at his friend, still hoping to be told he was allowed to hide in the attic until everyone left.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Dean said, his eyes going round and sympathetic. He stepped up close, hands sliding to hold Castiel’s, one of which was hidden under a flopped-down sleeve. “This is your first Solstice, you’ll learn about it as we go along. Nobody’s going to bring you down today, I promise. Today we set aside our differences and love freely. That’s the idea, anyway.” Dean glanced towards the Twig. “You got all your gifts ready?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Do I really have to give them while everyone watchesss? Why can’t we open them anonymousssly?”

Dean chuckled. “Not how it works.”

“Can I give you mine now?” Castiel asked. “I don’t want to have to explain it in front of everyone.”

“Now?” Dean seemed thoughtful. “Well, I don’t see why not.” He grinned. “Yeah! I wanna see what you got me.”

Castiel hurried to the Twig, ducking around to see which of the big wrapped presents was the one he’d wrapped for Dean. “Here it is.” He pulled out the biggest gift from under the Twig: a box wrapped in red-and-gold paper, tied with a golden ribbon.

“Cas...” Dean sat down in an armchair, astounded at the size of the box. It was half the size of _him_. “Dude, did you make this paper yourself?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, perching on the cushioned footstool, pulling it right up to Dean so they were close. “I painted all the things you like. Flowers, and pie, and snowflakes.”

Dean spent a few quiet moments just staring at the wrapping. “It’s beautiful.”

“Open it,” Castiel urged.

Dean did. He unwrapped his gift carefully, and managed it without ripping the paper too much. Slowly, yet eagerly, he opened up the box inside. His eyebrows leapt, his lips parted. “Oh,” he breathed, lifting out the new chestplate. “Holy— _Wow_.”

“Do you like it?” Castiel asked, shifting forward on his seat. “I wanted to make it myself but in the end I traded for it so it would be better. I had it designed specially. The leaf changes in the light, see—?”

Dean stood up, mouth open in awe. He turned the green-leaf chestplate towards the fireplace, and saw it reflected dark red. It was decorated all around with gold, and the whole thing looked spectacular.

“Your old one was so bruised,” Castiel went on. “I hope it’s all right. Maybe you’d wanted to choose your own colours—”

“Cas, I love it,” Dean assured him, grinning. “Help me put it on.”

“Are you going out?”

“Nah, just wanna wear it, it’s freakin’ awesome,” Dean said gleefully, lifting his arms and sliding the armour on over his head. Castiel nudged up beside him, assisting him with the side buckles. Once the chestplate was buckled in place over Dean’s sweater, Dean turned and ran to the washroom. Castiel followed him, smiling: Dean admired himself in the polished resin mirror, turning his back and looking over his shoulder. He faced the mirror again, hands sliding down his plated chest. He knocked it with a fist, and it deflected his hits better than a flower petal ever could. “Best armour _ever_.”

Castiel held onto the leathery tip of his good wing with both hands, hugging it and smiling. He felt all warm and melty inside.

Dean came out of the washroom with his back straight and his cheeks rosy. “Thank you,” he said. “Seriously, Cas, you’re the best.”

Castiel tucked his chin to his chest, eyes down. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean kissed his cheek. The gooey feeling inside Castiel became more pronounced, and he was too pleased to think straight. Dean wandered away, muttering happily to himself.

Riding on the high of satisfaction, Castiel didn’t even feel too anxious when Dean’s friends and family arrived. All kinds of fairies and sprites mingled in the room, and a low hubbub of companionable chatter filled the space. Castiel reassured himself with the knowledge that he knew everyone here; nobody was a stranger. There was Missouri, who brought lots of pudding; there was Bobby, talking to Jody; there was Kevin, who’d left his books at home and was now looking through Dean and Castiel’s books instead.

Sam soon joined the party, bringing all four of his mice. Squishbeans delighted in sniffing them all from head to tail. They’d start chasing each other later and cause a big fuss, but for now, they were content to sniff.

Seeing so much interaction going on, Castiel realised nobody was looking at him. He snuck off his perch on the ladder, slinking closer to the food table. He hid underneath. When the coast was clear of fairy feet, he peeked out, rose up, stuck out his long, forked tongue, and snatched an iced blueberry off a plate and into his mouth. Under the table again, he purred. Yum yum yum.

From where he was now, he could hear Bobby talking to someone on the couch. “These parties are all so loud. Heck, when I was your age, Solstice used to be a quiet time, a time for contemplatin’. Appreciatin’ what it’s really all about: shortest day, longest night. Tonight’s the _peak_ of Wintertime. Tomorrow we knuckle down and get started on a new year. You young’uns completely miss the point.”

“We still celebrate the changing times, Bobby,” Sam said, placatingly. “We like to extend its focus, that’s all. We celebrate more than the world around us, we include... you know – the friends we have. Our families. Show our appreciation in gifts.”

“Hrmph,” Bobby said.

“For me, it’s a time to open up to new ideas,” Sam went on. “Fresh start. My Springtime resolution is to be... Well, you’ll think it’s silly. But I’d like to be more understanding. Honestly, it was Cas who inspired me— Hey, where is Cas, by the way?”

Castiel heard a shuffling, presumably as Sam looked up, searching for him. Castiel hid further under the table.

“That good-for-nothin’ critter’s probably hunkered down in a pile of dead bugs and caca for all we know.”

Sam sighed. “He’s not so bad, Bobby. Even if he _was_ doing that, why should we judge him for it? He’s not like us, true. But he’s kind, and generous – and you _know_ it. I misjudged him when he first arrived. Now I’ve gotten to know him... well, I’ve realised I was too harsh. He’s going through things I’ve never experienced, and he does learn. He’s better than the other bat sprites, at any rate.”

“Ha!” Bobby coughed out. “After all your sugar talk, you’re no better than I am, kid.”

“Pardon me?” Sam asked.

“Tellin’ me he’s a _good_ bat sprite. All the rest are common sooty filth, that it?”

“Isn’t it? That’s what you always say.”

Bobby went quiet for a bit. Castiel peeked out from under the tablecloth, snout wriggling, and he saw Bobby’s squirrel tail flicking on the couch’s back in frustration.

“Well,” Bobby said, like the word was a mouthful, “Cas ain’t the worst. He keeps Dean’s chin up, doesn’t he, so he ain’t totally useless... ” Again he struggled, but forced out his sentence: “If Cas ain’t the worst, guess there’s a chance somm’a the other bat sprites... might be alright. Maybe.”

Castiel smiled. It felt nice to have aided in melting a long-frozen heart, even just a bit. He stuck out his tongue and licked up a raisin cake in celebration.

He was startled when someone crouched beside the table and lifted the cloth. “There you are,” Dean grinned. “We’re about to open our gifts, are you gonna join us?”

“Hss,” Castiel whispered.

Dean pursed his lips, smiling. “I’ll save a seat for you.”

Castiel remained under the table. He heard Dean call everyone into a circle. Armchairs shifted, grating the floor; the couch sank under the weight of more fairies. While everyone got settled with blankets and cushions, Missouri and Kevin started singing an old Solstice carol. A few fairies joined in, and everyone applauded at the end. Though the song had been captivating, Castiel didn’t clap in case he gave away his position. He peeked out from under the table, reached up for a cinnamon lollipop, and lay down on the floorboards, sucking on his treat while listening to everyone handing boxes out.

From what Castiel could piece together from sounds and voices, most gifts were small and sentimental, not quite as purposeful as Castiel’s gift to Dean. Sam got a silly hat, Charlie got a box of wing glitter. Charlie gave her special friend Gilda a very fancy item of jewellery, and everyone ooh’d and aah’d as it was draped around her neck, and she stood up to show it off.

Castiel finished his cinnamon lollipop and took another one. Then the whole plate, since nobody was there to stop him.

Dean received several gifts, including new books from Sam, and a rock polisher as a combined gift from Jody and Bobby.

Soon the group was ready to move on; they’d finished exchanging gifts.

“Cas isn’t coming?” Charlie asked sadly. “I swear I saw him here earlier, skulking by the ladder.”

“Uhhh,” Dean said. “Guess not.”

Castiel felt terrible. He wanted Dean to say “He’s under the table!” and pull him out, grinning. But Dean was being nice, and allowing Castiel to be _antisocial_. Castiel wasn’t having it. That’s enough of _that_ , he decided, rolling out from under the table. He wasn’t going to miss the fun just because he felt squirmy whenever people looked at him.

He crawled up beside Dean’s armchair, in a quick and silent scuttle. He peeked up over the armrest, dewy eyes set on Dean. Dean hadn’t noticed, and neither had anyone else; “He’s probably asleep,” Dean said. “He’s been a lot better recently, but, um. He still gets tired pretty easy.”

“Hs,” Castiel said, frowning. “I’m right here, Dean.” He popped up and sat calmly on Dean’s chair beside him. Dean startled, and everyone laughed, seeing him squashed up in his armchair, now sharing space with another body and one-and-a-half wings.

Dean started to smile. “H-Hi. Glad you could join us.”

“You thought I’d miss my chance to accept your Solstice gifts?” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “How insssulting.”

Dean smirked. Oh, he looked so precious like that: handsome in his new armour, pink-cheeked because it was far too hot to wear armour around their nest, especially buckled over a sweater while the fire was lit. Yet he hadn’t wanted to take the armour off. As a token of his overwhelming affection, Castiel leaned in and gave Dean a soft kiss on his hot cheek.

First, a shocked silence. Then everyone around them fell into a chorus of cooing and giggling.

Dean went more pink than before. “Ah,” he exhaled, a breath that was meant to have been a word, but wasn’t. “O-Okay. Yup.” He touched his kissed cheek, smudging away the touch. “Geez. You’re so weird, Cas.”

Castiel was confused. Usually Dean just smiled at Castiel’s random shows of affection and got on with things. He’d never reacted so bashfully to a kiss.

“You—” Dean stammered, trying to look at Castiel, eyes settling on his cinnamon-sticky mouth instead. “You got gifts for everyone, didn’t you? You wanna share them, Cas?”

Castiel nodded, slipping off the armchair to go fetch the envelopes from under the Solstice Twig. He went feeling preoccupied. Maybe Dean didn’t like kisses any more. Castiel decided to refrain from smooching him, just in case. He didn’t want to upset him.

Solemnly, Castiel went around the circle, handing out his gifts. “I painted you all a picture,” he said. “I framed them in twigs – Dean said it made the pictures look more impressive.”

“Oh, honey, this is beautiful,” Missouri exclaimed, seeing Castiel’s painting of her tree-root home with its wide-open yellow-framed windows, made up in bright colours, and encircled with patterns of leaves and flowers. “You got some fine talent pouring right outta you, haven’t you?”

“I wasn’t any good when I started,” Castiel assured her. “I just practised a lot. I got better.”

Castiel sat next to Dean again, meeting his eyes and smiling. Dean smiled back, but he didn’t wrap his arms around Castiel to snuggle like they did at bedtime, or when they read books together. Castiel perched on the armrest instead, in case Dean wanted more personal space.

Bobby grunted. “Cute,” he said about his own gift, a painting of his high-up tree-trunk cave. He showed Sam, and Sam showed Bobby his own painting, grinning.

A few minutes passed, mostly full of compliments for Cas. He felt his heart growing bigger and bigger with self-confidence, his body singing with gratitude. He curled up small sometimes, embarrassed to be praised so much, but eventually he uncurled.

Still, even after the talk died down and folks started to slip their artwork back into its envelope to keep it safe, Castiel felt funny inside. Dean hadn’t said anything. He’d smiled, and nodded, but he sat too tensely in his chair.

Castiel had more to say. “Um. I also – wrote a poem.”

Dean looked intrigued. So Castiel stood up, wings at his sides, hand on his heart. He took a deep breath, forcing his fear to settle. With a quiet voice and limited confidence, he recited from memory:

“Dear friends,” he began.

“Although it’s true I may not belong here,  
And each of my dayssss is ruled by my fear,  
I— I want to be certain,  
And say, despite hurting,  
That I’ve never found a home so dear.”

He trembled. He dug up fresh courage, and carried on.

“All of you have filled my heart with wealth;  
You gave me the chance to know myself.  
Though ssssome are adverse,  
You could be much worse,  
And I wish you happiness, long lives, and good health.”

He gulped, ears ringing in the silence. He went on, fond eyes turning to Dean.

“Dean, you have welcomed me into your heart,  
Offered your food, your bed, and your hearth.  
When Sssspringtime comes  
I will move on,  
But in memory, we’re never apart.”

Castiel heard silence. Silence, silence. Then applause. Cheers, words of congratulation; the warmth of rumbling voices filled Castiel with heat. Everyone liked the poem. But Castiel just stared at Dean, waiting for his reaction.

Dean licked his lips. He kept looking down – then he looked away.

He slunk off his armchair, and he left the gathering. Castiel watched him climb the ladder – but Castiel was pulled away then, as Kevin yanked him the other way to join a jovial conversation.

✿

Dean felt weightless and heavy at once. He floated to his bed. The sheets were still rumpled from where he and Castiel had spent the night, wrapped up, comforted by each other’s warmth. Mindlessly, Dean straightened the covers. He felt Castiel’s presence here. His scent was here, his paintings were here, all along the bedframe, all up across the rafters.

Dean couldn’t imagine living without him, now. Cas was _part_ of this place.

Senselessly, Dean had forgotten. Come Springtime, Cas was going to leave. That had always been the plan. In all his days and nights of comfort and companionship, Dean had assumed it wasn’t going to happen any more. Castiel was _home_ here. How could he leave?!

Dean knelt, and pulled out his Solstice gift for Castiel from under the bed. He tore the wrapping, and looked at the box inside. A set of cutlery: a wooden spork, a spoon, and a knife, all engraved with Castiel’s name. Dean slid it back under the bed with a sigh. Cas wouldn’t need those when he was feasting on bugs with his tribe. That time was only a matter of weeks away.

Dean must’ve been crazy to think Cas would stay forever, that he’d been tamed. He was still wild. He was every part the bat sprite he’d been when he’d arrived. Maybe he learned some new skills, and switched up some habits, but he wasn’t a flower fairy. He was son of darkness. He always would be.

Shaking his head, Dean stood up. He was the host of this party; it didn’t do to hide away. He put on his happy face, stowed his sadness, and marched back down to the group.

✿

“I know it’s not the most exciting gift,” Sam shrugged, eyes on Castiel. “It’s not Charlie’s rainbow sweater or Missouri’s handwritten recipe book. But,” Sam shifted on his feet, “I thought, since I’m fairly good at making things, I could maybe make you... a new mechanical wing. To help you fly, at least a little bit. Obviously I haven’t made anything yet, I have to take measurements—”

Sam’s sentence ended in a choked laugh as Castiel flung himself around his neck, nuzzling and squealing. “Okay!” Sam yelped. “Good choice, then!”

Dean folded his arms, grinning. The loud, bustling parts of the party were over now. Everyone had gone home except Missouri and Sam. A pleasant warmth simmered in the room in the absence of a crowd, silence settling like golden dust.

Castiel finally dropped off Sam’s shoulders, one-and-a-half wings vibrating excitedly. “Dean!” he shouted, resisting the urge to pounce on Dean and hug him. “Sam’s going to make me _wings_! I’m going to fly again!”

“Yeah, and who taught him how to make stuff, I wonder?” Dean smiled. He slid his hand into Castiel’s and squeezed, surprising the sprite. “C’mon, it’s a gift from both of us. Me and Sam together.” Dean shot Sam a stern look. “Right, Sammy?”

Sam looked stumped. At Dean’s bug-eyed look of urgency, Sam took a breath and nodded, smiling at Castiel. “Yeah. Dean’s going to help.”

“EEE!” Castiel nuzzled Dean hard on the shoulder. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Missouri laughed deeply as she approached with a book, one hand on her round belly. “You two make the cutest pair!”

Dean shot her a sheepish, embarrassed look.

Castiel pecked Dean’s cheek with a kiss. “Why were you shy earlier?” he asked Dean, arms and wings wrapped around him. “I really thought... For a while I was worried you didn’t like me any more.”

Dean shook his head, eyes soft on Castiel’s gaze. “Cas, come on. You know I’ll always want you around.”

Castiel looked unsure.

Dean leaned in, eyes closed, and very pointedly gave Castiel a smooch, just beside his top left fang. “There,” Dean said. “I never kissed you in front of someone before, that’s all. Got stagefright.” His eyes darted to Sam. Sam pretended to examine the rafters. Dean gulped and turned back to Castiel. “You don’t have to worry.”

“So we can sleep in your bed again tonight?”

Dean blushed, avoiding Sam’s suddenly-inquisitive gaze. “Yeah, Cas. If you want.”

“Good. I want _exsstra_ wing kisses,” Castiel smiled, swaying their joined hands. “And I’ll hiss in your ear the way you—”

“OKAY! Okay good fine let’s move this along. Place to tidy up, dishes to wash.” Dean cleared his throat and scooted away, blushing furiously.

Sam guffawed in the background. Castiel hugged himself, smiling bemusedly.

“Lotta love between you,” Dean heard Missouri say to Castiel. “Got something special goin’, huh?”

Castiel didn’t reply right away. “I love Dean very much,” he said, eventually.

Dean’s eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t help the harshness with which he tipped acorn bowls into the sink, nor the force with which he started to wash them. In his head, his own voice shouted in despair: _If you love me, then how could you leave me?! I don’t want you to go, Cas._

Dean bowed his head, and one tear fell from his eyelashes and into the soapy dishwater. He couldn’t even see its ripple through the blurs.

✿

Missouri had brought along her panpipes. She wasn’t a musician, but she knew how to play a few Solstice songs. She improvised notes, and made every tune more jaunty than Dean remembered it being. The rhythm and the rhyme in the melody just made Dean want to dance, and after a few sips of thick, syrupy wine, he couldn’t _stop_ dancing.

He took Sam’s hands and danced a jig, he lifted Squishbeans up high and spun around. He pulled Missouri from her chair and orbited her in high spirits, laughter filling him, making him forget he was ever sad. Winter Solstice was never a time for misery; bad things would come to all, given time, but there was plenty of goodness to enjoy in the meantime. Dean couldn’t think about loss. Right now he was all bright and golden, armour finally discarded on the couch. He took Castiel’s hands, arms around his waist, and they danced.

They swayed, they sang despite knowing very few of the words, they spun around, and they held tight to each other as they dipped towards the floor. Back on their feet, Dean lifted Castiel’s wings out wide, and Castiel flapped them in time to the music. Sam beat the drum of the couch, alive with joy that showed no sign of fading.

Their energy burned bright like the fire in the hearth, the four of them making as much noise as a dozen. The mice grew tired before the fairies, and they slept beside the fire, stretched out comfortably.

Eventually fatigue took hold, and the flame of their Winter Solstice celebration died down to an ember inside them all. Missouri played a slower song. She was dizzy, breath thinned out. Missed notes seemed like nothing; Dean’s head was still full of his favourite songs.

He hummed, quietly. Castiel rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, and they rocked in place, ever so slowly. Bare feet. Tired wings. One sleeve of Castiel’s new rainbow sweater dangled loose around his hand, resting on Dean’s waist.

Dean’s eyes slipped closed, and he rested his nose against Castiel’s neck.

Castiel breathed, fingers scrunching in Dean’s clothes.

With comfort and love swirling happily inside him, Dean lifted his head. He gazed at Castiel, thinking how terrible it was to miss him before he was even gone. Here he was, blue-eyed, a lazy smile pulling past his cute little fangs. Oh, how dearly Dean loved him.

He wanted to show it with a kiss, one like the hundreds they’d shared. They’d given each other playful kisses, nice kisses, sweet kisses. A brush of lips against a cheek, sometimes secretive in bed, trailing down an aching wing. Castiel had even kissed Dean’s neck by accident once, while hissing in his ear. Hissing noises made Dean tingly – in an _innocent_ way, for the record. There was nothing sultry or seductive about Dean and Castiel’s kisses.

Until now.

Now, they stopped dancing; Dean kissed Castiel on the mouth for the first time ever. Cas tasted of cinnamon sugar lollipops. He was soft. So very soft. Then he became less soft; he pushed, inhaling as he turned his head, kissing Dean back, one hand holding Dean’s the back of neck. Dean didn’t know if Castiel understood, if he realised this was romantic. Dean _loved_ him. He wished he had the courage to say it aloud. His heart ached, longing for true acknowledgement as his fingers cupped Castiel’s jaw.

Fangs touched on Dean’s lip, biting gently.

Dean lowered his head, lapping wetness from his bottom lip. His eyes rose, curious to see Castiel’s reaction.

Castiel wore a happy, happy smile. His eyes were closed still; he started to hum, swaying his head.

With a chuckle, Dean nudged his head to Castiel’s. “Weirdo,” he whispered.

Castiel purred, tip of his nose stroking Dean’s ear.

Sensuality was part of their everyday interaction, Dean reminded himself. Cas liked soft, squishy things and lots of physical affection; Dean liked vibrations. They were comfortable sharing that in private. But this? This was different. Sam had seen. Missouri kept playing her panpipes, but she’d been watching. For Dean, not only sharing but _displaying_ a kiss like that made it more than an everyday sensory-seeking adventure. But until he worked up the courage to talk to Cas about it, he’d never know if it was the same for him.

They kept on dancing until they grew too tired to stand. After a while, and another drink, Missouri wished them a good night, a merry Winter Solstice, and a happy new year. She left, wrapped up in her big coat, braving the gentle snowfall with a smile.

Soon Sam gave Dean and Castiel a giant hug each, then went home, taking his mice with him.

Dean closed the door behind Sam, turning to speak to Castiel – but found him asleep on the couch, curled around Squishbeans.

With a smile, Dean covered them both with a blanket. A discussion about kisses could happen later. The right time would come along soon enough.

But, after the night of Winter Solstice had passed, Dean found the right time had gone along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen months later, I RETURN. The plan is to post one (or two) chapters a week until this story is done. Should take until the end of April 2017. The next chapter's an exciting one! Thanks for hanging in there, friends. ♥
> 
> [✿ Art reblog for Chapter 4 is here!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/159512539445/surprise-%EF%BE%9F-after-18-months-i-have-at-last) (A complete art post will be available once the story's finished)


	5. Golden Sunshine Melts the Frost Each Day

Sunshine pooled. It was just what sunshine _did_. For such a long time, warmth had been too fleeting to enjoy properly – just a slice of yellow on the floor in the late afternoon, and they’d maybe go half a day with watery light swimming in the kitchen sink with the dishes. But Wintertime was nearly over, and Dean could tell, because the sunshine ceased to _pool_ , and began to _flood_.

Granted, leaving his nest still felt like a smack in the face. Dean made sure Cas was wrapped up warmly before he put on his own coat and scarf and mittens. Their breath would cloud in front of them, and their noses would turn red and they’d get all sniffy. But the Sun was always a relief. It caressed their cold cheeks fondly, always pleased to see them.

Snowflakes were piled up either side of Dean and Castiel’s feet as they walked. It was suspended above them too, atop a hunching grass stalk canopy. It had snowed overnight; Dean thought it might be one of the last snowfalls of the season, so he’d suggested they go out to enjoy it.

That same morning, Missouri had kindly gifted Castiel knitted wing-warmers, because those leathery appendages were terribly susceptible to the cold. Castiel wore the warmers proudly, lifting each wing in turn as he walked along the Garden’s path. “The colours look even better in the light! Look, I’m a butterfly.” He fluttered both wings, holding a hand curled at his face to act as a proboscis.

Dean snorted. “You better watch out, then. I heard there’s a kind of sprite that goes around eating things like you.”

Castiel tucked his hands into his pockets and kicked along, falling into step beside Dean. “Even if I _were_ a bat sprite, I wouldn’t eat butterflies,” he said. “They’re much too important for your flowers.”

Dean looked up at the crystal blue sky. “Hm, not a bat sprite in sight. You’re in the clear.”

Castiel smiled – then, without warning, he scurried ahead. “Dean! There’s Sam!”

Dean went after him, chuckling as he lugged an overstuffed backpack behind him. They emerged from under the snowy grass walkway and fully into the sunlight, hopping over grit and mushy snow to reach Sam.

“Hey,” Sam called, waving from a high-up rock. He grabbed a rope and scooted downwards, shoes hopping in increments down the rockface. He landed with a jump, and opened his arms to let Cas hug him.

“Oof, you’re in a good mood,” Sam observed, as Castiel stepped back to show off his wings. “Did Dean tell you already?”

Castiel squinted. “Tell me what?”

Dean shook his head secretively. “Come on, it’s a surprise.”

“Dean, tell me _what_?” Castiel demanded.

Sam and Dean shared a smug look.

“Your Winter Solstice present,” Sam said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “We finally got it finished.”

Castiel gasped, both hands over his mouth. “R’lly?!” he shouted, voice muffled by his overlong sleeves.

Dean took off his backpack and handed it to Sam. Sam opened it up, then pulled out whatever was inside.

Castiel rushed to touch it. It looked like an odd sort of contraption, folded-up brown fabric and an assortment of connected poles.

Castiel took the thing, looking at it in confusion. “Isn’t this a tent?”

Sam grinned. “Open it up! Watch out, though.”

With much squinting and head-tilting, Castiel unfolded the lump. As soon as he straightened one edge, the whole thing went _flOOP!_ and Castiel dropped it in surprise. On the ground at his feet lay a single bat sprite wing.

Dean went forward and touched Castiel on the back. “Remember when Missouri came over to measure for wing warmers?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “You—! You tricked me! You pretended you’d forgotten my Winter Solstice gift, you— You _conspired_. Missouri was in on it too...”

Dean winked. He looked at Sam, and saw him beaming. They’d designed and made the wing together, and by the look on Castiel’s face, the gentle misdirection had been worth it for the surprise.

“Let’s try it on you, yeah?” Dean suggested, picking up the wing. It had a set of straps like a body harness, which Dean carefully slipped on over Castiel’s shoulders. “Better take these off,” he advised, divesting Castiel of the wing warmers, unbuttoning them as he went. It felt a little bit like he was undressing Castiel. If Dean blushed, nobody noticed but him.

Sam helped clip the new wing to Castiel’s torn one. “It might not be the most comfortable thing, but—”

“If it means I can fly again, I don’t care if it’s pinchy,” Castiel stated with great determination. He tried to speak again, but got choked up.

Dean rubbed his back. “You okay?”

Castiel nodded, gleaming blue eyes rising to meet Dean’s. “You can’t imagine—” He breathed out, licking his fangs. “The lossssss...” A frown. “To have your wings ripped from you...”

“You’re wrong,” Dean said. “We can imagine just fine. We’ve never experienced it, sure, but we can see how it affected _you_. It sucked, and we can see it sucked _bad_. But we wanna fix it, Cas. Or at least make things easier for you.” He stroked the new wing. “How’s it feeling?”

Castiel stretched his ruined wing out, and the new wing stretched with it. His eyes lit up and a smile rose on his face. “Good. Stiff, but— Oh, Dean,” he sighed, turning to Dean and hugging him. “Thank you.”

Dean patted Castiel’s back. “Hey, it was Sam’s idea,” he said quietly. “I just piggybacked on his plans.”

Sam smirked as Castiel turned to squeeze him too, face buried against his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Cas.”

“So, what,” Dean started, looking around, “you wanna take a running leap?”

Castiel chuckled. “Dean. Bat sprites drop from above, we can’t take off from the ground.” He paused, then his eyes lowered. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Well – there’s a tree?” Dean gestured with a thumb. “Bobby might be home.” With a sly smile, Dean realised, “We’d get there in time for brunch. Right! That’s settled, then. Let’s go!”

As a trio, they made their way across the Garden. The snow was partially melted now, so puddles were starting to form in the pathway. They were all wearing their rainboots, but even with protective gear, it wasn’t easy to hop over the big, deep lakes. Dean was the unlucky one: although agile, he misjudged his jump by mere snowflakes, and slipped into the water with a splash. “Yeek! Cold! Cold!” he squawked, thrashing to get out as fast as possible.

Sam and Castiel both leaned down with a hand to haul Dean upright, dripping wet and muddy.

“Nyeeh,” Dean whimpered, trying not to cry. He hated being made _cold_ and _wet_ against his will.

“Here,” Castiel said, wrapping both his wing warmers around Dean’s shoulders, patting him. “It’s okay, Dean, they’ll make you nice and warm.”

Dean pouted. “Thanks,” he grunted, scowling at the stupid ground with its stupid puddles.

Castiel nuzzled Dean’s neck, then gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek. Dean couldn’t help but smile, and Castiel grinned. “There. Just like magic.”

“Shuddup,” Dean muttered, pushing ahead. He still smiled.

They marched on. They reached Bobby’s tree soon enough, and clambered into the pulley lift all at once: it was a small platform bordered by a fence, designed to elevate its passengers up the side of the tree. Sam closed the platform’s gate behind them, then started pulling the rope. With each tug, the platform rose an inch.

The higher they got, the more of the Garden they saw. Bobby had the best view; whiteness smothered the land, covering the bridges and the paths, and all the places where flowers would pop up in Springtime. As the Sun shone, the Garden sparkled.

Castiel tugged on Dean’s arm, whispering, “Look!” He pointed. “There’s our tree stump.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah.” He smiled at Castiel’s phrasing. _Our_ tree stump.

“I wonder if Squishbeans can see us from there,” Castiel said.

“She’s probably nibbling furniture in revenge for us leaving her at home,” Dean supposed.

“This wasn’t a mouse-friendly outing,” Castiel agreed. “Tomorrow we should visit Charlie and Gilda’s nest,” he said hopefully. “They always have a treat for Squishbeans.”

Though Castiel left it unsaid, Dean knew he was thinking it: Charlie and Gilda always had a treat for Cas, too. Charlie loved to read, so there were always plenty of books to exchange and talk about. Castiel had become a voracious reader in recent times.

After a few minutes, with Dean, Castiel, and Sam taking turns to pull the rope, the pulley lift reached a thick branch, growing at a right angle to Bobby’s front door. The rope went higher, up past Jody’s place, but here was where Sam tied it.

Dean and Castiel got out, climbing onto a raggedy platform of living tree bark. Castiel patted the moss as he went along: it tickled his palms, and he loved that.

Dean breathed out slowly, arms wrapped around his own waist, hugging the wing warmers tighter around his leaf-green armour.

“Is something the matter?” Castiel asked.

Dean glanced at him. “What? Oh... No. No, I’m fine.”

Castiel tilted his head, and said, disparagingly, “Dean.”

Dean frowned, eyes darting to Sam, who was just out of earshot. “I’m fine. It’s just— it'sreallyhighup.”

Castiel seemed concerned. “Do you want to go back down?”

“No,” Dean lied. “Look, let’s just get on with things. We’re up here so you can fly, it’s not about me.”

Castiel was no doubt about to impart something reassuring when they heard a gruff bark: “Whadd’y’a kids all doin’ out here? Didn’t even think to knock first.”

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean smiled. But moving his head immediately made him cold and nauseous, and he had to stop smiling.

Castiel noticed. He moved closer, and his warm hand slid to hold Dean’s. Suddenly, Dean felt a lot less queasy. He breathed out, and he smiled again.

“Come on,” Castiel said. “Sam’s gone inside for brunch. Do you want brunch?”

Dean, being the food-loving fairy that he was, could not imagine a world where he refused.

✿

Castiel had had _dreams_ about this. He’d hoped, and hoped, and hoped until he wept, and tried to bargain with reality that the damage might be undone. He’d wished on odd-looking rocks, and flower petals, and floating seeds. He’d wished on falling stars, too. After Circuits of pointless begging, he’d just about come to accept that this was how things were now. He was a flightless, grounded failure.

But this gift, it brought his heart’s dormant desires back to life. This was a dream come true, in every sense. The stars hadn’t forsaken him after all!

He stood on the branch outside Bobby’s treehouse home, and he spread his wings. After a delicious snack, he had all the energy he needed: he was going to fly back to the nest and surprise Squishbeans with an aerial arrival. He was really going to do it! At last!

“You all set?” Dean asked, hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Yes.” Castiel looked carefully at Dean. “Will you be okay without me?”

“Me? Sure,” Dean scoffed. “I got Sam to pull me outta puddles, haven’t I? You, though – be careful, all right? We’ll be watching until you land.”

Castiel nodded. He faced the Garden, hands in fists. Once more, he tested the wings, folding them against his back, then stretching them wide. They moved smoothly with his body.

He let out one long preparatory breath. “Here I go.”

He went to the side of the branch, toes over the edge. It was such a long way down; the sight brought back memories that lifted his spirits at once. There was nothing to fear: freefalling was second-nature to a bat sprite.

Without a moment more of hesitation, Castiel dropped like a stone from the branch. Cold air, rushing past. Twirling. Six feet down, he spread his wings, and with a _flump!_ he slowed to a halt in mid-air. A testing flutter: he advanced upward, and he promptly forgot to concentrate. This was so easy, it was automatic.

He grinned, shooting up in an arc, high above the tree. He heard whoops and cheers of celebration from the branches: he chased the sound, sweeping into the leafless spikes without a second thought. Darting, slipping between the twigs, he came up in a spin past Bobby’s treehouse.

“Woo! Go Cas!” Sam shouted.

Dean laughed, clapping his hands. Castiel waved, and as Dean grew smaller, he raised both hands to wave back. Now he was too small to see: Castiel left the tree’s chaos and emerged into the clear blue sky, wings spread wide.

This was freedom. This was who he _was_! He’d been grounded for so long that the feeling of weightlessness and the sharp gust of wind under his belly had grown foreign. He felt like he’d been sleeping for Circuits, like his hibernation era had been replaced by a strange dream filled with odd-looking friends and unusual food. The haze of it melted away as his mind sharpened, his sight became piercingly clear, and every ice-cold breath brought him a fresh thought, casting away the cobwebs of an absent mind.

He took a nosedive; he swept in a long skid across the Garden, hands casting up a spray of loose snow. He laughed out loud, arms out as he ascended in a flap-flap-flap, paused at the apex, then tumbled in a ball of joy towards the ground. He heard a squawk of surprise, and grinned as he met Charlie’s friend Gilda on the way down, butterfly wings aflutter.

“Good morning!” Castiel called, flying past, heading up again. “Good to see you!”

Gilda’s voice was faint as distant now, as she called back: “Watch... for the...”

Castiel didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. He flew on, too delighted to slow down. He was sure she just meant to remind him about the snow; it was incredibly bright, and if he wasn’t careful, its glare would strain his eyes. He tried not to look directly at it, but focused on the sky, the trees, the flowers.

Ah! He’d spied a patch of daffodils, right here in the Garden! Not too far from the nest, too. All blanketed in snow, their bright yellow trumpets stood proudly atop green stems. Although it was still definitely Wintertime, the daffodils were always the pioneers of Springtime. They heralded warmer days.

Until now Castiel had been on top of the world. But as he flew around and around nearby trees, the occasional sight of daffodils reminded him that Wintertime would soon end. The bat sprites were close to leaving hibernation. There was never a better time to re-learn how to fly than right now...

But why did Castiel feel wrong all of a sudden? Why did he feel heavy? His clipped-on wing began to ache, and as he looked at it, he saw two of its clips had come undone. He couldn’t reach them while his wings were outstretched; he had to land soon.

He started circling the tree-stump nest, fluttering lower and lower.

Gilda’s distant shout caught his attention, and he looked up: a bird! A bird was headed his way!

Castiel did an about-turn in mid-air, flapping as fast as he could in the other direction. He knew he was being chased, his heart pounding, his ears full of the sound of bird wings. His own wings flapped twice on every downbeat, as his new attachment was coming apart from his body. Oh no, oh no—

He dropped from the air, and just in time: the bird swooped past his head, mouth open. Castiel had been snatched up once before, he didn’t want to be bird dinner again!

Frantically looking for a hiding place, Castiel flew low to the ground. It was getting harder to stay up, he was tired – everything hurt. He hadn’t done this in too long and his body was out of practice.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t simply drop and hide in the snow; he would be seen too easily. He sped along, inches from the ground, out of breath, unable to fly straight. He was slowing down. Slower, and slower, despite his efforts.

He heard tweeting behind him: the bird was annoyed he was taking so long to catch.

“Leave me alone!” Castiel cried, mouth pulling downward in despair. “Please don’t eat me!”

Of course the bird paid him no attention; it was right on his toes, chasing after him as he rounded a tree trunk. He didn’t even know where he was now, he’d flown in so many directions.

“Hey!” Castiel heard. “Hey, you! Bird-brain!”

Castiel peered up through his tears, and saw his salvation. Dean waved madly from his place on Bobby’s branch.

He was holding an acorn half the size of him. So was Sam. And Bobby. And Jody.

Castiel used all his strength to fly higher, trying to get closer. He dared not fly too close in case the bird saw the others as easy prey. Around and around the tree trunk he went, almost scratching his wing tip on the bark. This bird, it wasn’t giving up. It could see Castiel was exhausted and weak, falling apart quite literally at the seams.

“Come on, Cas,” Sam shouted. “Fly higher!”

Castiel flew as close as he dared. And then came the assault: acorns tumbled past his head, some flung so hard they whistled. Each time he went around the tree, more missiles shot his way. He heard a tweet of alarm, and he dared to looked back: the bird flapped frantically in place for a moment, almost knocked backwards as an acorn brushed its feathered middle. At last, in a disgruntled state, it swooped down, turned tail and flew away.

Cheers echoed down through the tree. Castiel smiled, but he was too exhausted to fly up. He floated down in uneven flaps and bumps, without grace, gradually tracing a line down to the ground. He landed softly in a pillow of slushy snow, and he sighed. He was burning hot, and the snow was blissfully cold.

He rested.

Not long later, he started to feel numb. He shook himself free of snow and flopped his way to the nearest path, where he leant against a Sun-warmed pebble and fell asleep.

✿

Castiel woke up in bed. It smelled like Dean, and despite his confusion, he was immediately comforted.

He had to blink a few times, struggling to remember what happened. He pieced it together: blinding white snow, the swish of a bird’s wings, the flupitty-flupitty-flup of a pretend wing coming undone. A shower of angry acorns...

Pushing back the bedcovers, Castiel looked at his half-wing. Still in once piece, so to speak. There were some injuries where the wing had clipped on, but... otherwise, he was fine? How did he get here?

Stumbling from bed, Castiel shuffled to the trap door, taking all the blankets with him.

He bumped down the ladder, and when he blinked open his sleepy, bleary eyes, he smiled. Everyone was here, crowding around him. He felt ruffled hands in his hair, pats on his back – and a kiss, soft on his cheek. Dean’s eyes were the warmest, and kindest, his expression full of love and relief.

“Almost lost you out there,” Dean muttered amidst other chatter, all sentiments much the same. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Hungry,” Castiel rasped. A rumble of amusement filled the crowd.

“We all made you a lil’ somethin’,” Dean said, nudging Castiel under his chin. “Go get washed up, then we’ll have a big family dinner.”

“Hmph,” Bobby said. “All my food got buried in the snow. Tossed willy-nilly at some ill-mannered featherbrain, would ya believe.”

Castiel smiled weakly. His voice was quiet, but his words were heartfelt as he said, “Thank you, Bobby. I appreciate your sacrifice.”

Jody clapped Bobby on the back. “Quit sulking, you old nutter. Dean’s got a big nutsack rolling around somewhere in here – haven’t you, Dean?”

Dean looked startled for a second, then realised what Jody meant. “Oh. Yeah. Pantry’s always stocked.”

Castiel cuddled up with his blanket and leaned against Dean. Dean squeezed him. “You still good?”

Castiel nodded. “Just glad to be alive. And home,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” Dean said softly. He sighed. “Couldn’t’ve said it better myself.”

Castiel wondered what Dean was keeping unsaid. But he couldn’t dwell on it; he was sent to the washroom, and when he came out all sparkling and clean, he was offered more food than he’d seen in his life.

If he’d ever, ever doubted that he wasn’t entirely welcome here, all his doubt vanished in a puff of sugar vapour that day. Though nobody said it in actual words, they showed it in their care: he was loved. He was loved dearly. And he knew instinctively that he would be missed when he did move on, once his new wing was repaired or replaced, and he could fly well enough to rejoin his tribe.

He vowed to appreciate every moment here for the gift that it was. Physical items were precious, yes – replacement wings, clothing, new paints – but most important was the feeling, the experience, the memory that would be left once an object was worn out or used up. He understood. The gift of love had settled happily in Castiel’s heart, and now he would never be without it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~The final chapters will be up next week!~~ Let me know your thoughts in the comments! I'm curious to see where you see this story going as it nears its conclusion. I hope you're having good lives, my smol garden friends~ ♥


	6. The Garden is a Rainbow of Lush Flora (and Surprisingly Excitable Fauna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final three chapters!

When Dean sensed a rush of butterfly wings high above the Garden, he set down his tools, put his muddy hands on his knees, and looked up. Charlie and Gilda were hurrying to visit his nest, holding hands, going so fast their legs trailed like ribbons behind them.

Dean thought little of it. He had some food prepared – sure, there’d be enough for two more friends at lunchtime. Anyone was welcome, even unannounced. He bent his head and got back to planting tulip seeds.

But then he heard a tumble of hurrying feet. He looked over his shoulder and saw Kevin, a book under his arm, running to Dean’s nest like his life depended on it. Dean smiled, supposing a fairy in some other Garden had made a delivery of newly-written books. Only exciting stories could make Kevin scurry about like a mouse. He probably wanted to talk to Charlie and Cas about it. Going on past experience, Dean suspected he himself would only get to read the new book after everyone else was done with it, since he lived in a community of book-hoggers.

Dean only looked up from his planting when he heard more movement in the distance. He rolled his eyes, tossed down his trowel, and stood up. With a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sunshine, he gazed upon the chartreuse buds and blooms of the Garden revelling in the renewal of Springtime. Between all the tangles of fresh vines and overgrown grass, Dean was surprised to spot Missouri, hands holding up her skirt as she ran. And there was Jody, squirrel tail fluffed up as she scampered over the branches of the nearest tree, heading down to Dean’s tree stump.

“All right, that’s _it_ ,” Dean said, fastening his sleeves tighter around his elbows. “What’s so exciting, huh?”

He marched back home, determined to be part of the fun.

He barged through his own front door, and was met with a full house. Nobody paused to look at him; they were all fussing and clucking around one figure in their midst. Castiel.

Curious, Dean approached. Aside from the single volume Kevin had brought along, there were no new exciting books in sight. How mysterious.

“Hey,” Dean uttered, elbowing Jody gently. “What’s goin’ on?”

“You didn’t see?” Charlie yelped, eyes turning to Dean.

“No, what?” Dean frowned.

“The bat sprites,” Jody said.

“They’re freaking _swarming_!” Kevin sounded breathless. “I was outside, reading, minding my own business, when—”

“Schooom,” Gilda said, illustrating a wriggling mass fluttering past her face.

“Eek, eek, eek,” Charlie added. “Those things screech like—”

“Like they’re on their way outta hell in a hurry,” Jody finished. “Clearly they’ve got someplace better to be.”

Dean, with a rock in the pit of his stomach, turned his eyes to Castiel.

Cas was sitting on a footstool in the centre of the room, hands between his knees. There were flecks of paint on him up to his elbows; some of it was still wet. He gazed back at Dean with an unreadable nothingness in his eyes.

Maybe he looked expectant. Maybe he looked happy. Dean couldn’t tell. He himself felt numb, very suddenly.

“I— I knew it would be sssoon,” Castiel said, eyes lowering from Dean’s, rising to Missouri’s. “I felt it. Springtime arrived, I felt the warmth, and I knew what it meant. Yesterday, I had a... a feeling... deep inside.” He touched his tummy, eyes closed, eyebrows slowly colliding. “It was time. My kind were leaving hibernation.”

Dean swallowed. He dared not meet anyone’s eyes – and thankfully nobody looked his way, they were all absorbed by Castiel’s words, his form, his softness. They all knew, like Dean did, that once he was gone, everything would be different.

“We’ll miss you if you go, kid,” Jody said, touching Castiel’s head softly. “You brighten this place up, in more ways than we ever imagined.”

There was a silence. A sad, clenching silence. Nobody had anything to add. Jody had said it all.

Dean wanted someone to blurt out “You’re welcome to stay, Cas,” but nobody did.

Maybe Dean was the one who was meant to.

Yet he didn’t.

Eventually Castiel took a breath. “I’ll have to be quick. The tribe may circle the nearby Gardens a few times but they’ll move on soon. I’d prefer if— If we didn’t say goodbye. I don’t want to make any of you feel sad.”

Too late, Dean thought. He’d never felt heartbreak before, but it probably felt like this. He always thought it was just a figurative saying; he hadn’t realised it would come with physical agony. His chest felt as if it might implode, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Though his face was unmoving on the surface, inside he was all a-panic.

Dean watched through blurry eyes as Castiel got his possessions together. He was taking a neat yellow backpack, gifted by Bobby. Inside, he packed a flask of nectar, a tin of beetle scratchings to eat on the way, his lucky bracelet (he showed it to Jody, she smiled), two extra sweaters, his favourite socks – and he quickly made extra room in his pack, because Kevin handed him his book.

“I’d been saving this for you,” Kevin said. “It’s a gift from all of us. It’s not for reading, it’s for writing. You can write whatever you like in there. Or you could paint.”

Castiel said nothing, but he nodded gratefully. He slipped his paints and brushes in beside the book, then accepted Charlie’s help to buckle the bag’s flap down. It was full to bursting.

At that moment, the front door slammed open, and Sam stormed in, eyes wide, out of breath. His arm waved, gesturing to outside, a finger swirling to describe the circling sprites—

He realised everyone was already here, and already knew. He sobered, pressing his lips together. He closed the door behind him.

For a few minutes, Dean’s nest was full of excited chatter, encouragement. He heard a few silly anecdotes about bat sprites, but none of them inspired much confidence in him. The circling tribe could turn out to be Castiel’s old tribe, or it could be a different one entirely. They could be the friendliest bat sprites in the world, but wherever they led Cas, that place wouldn’t be _here_.

Dean tried his best to appreciate the bustle of this impromptu farewell party. But in the end he had to step aside; he wasn’t enjoying this. The company wasn’t comforting, it was oppressive.

He went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Although the Sun streamed through the round window over the sink, and Dean knew outside looked beautiful, everything felt... grey. Miserable.

This was the saddest sandwich Dean had ever made in his life.

A presence emerged at Dean’s back. A warm hand touched his back. Dean’s hopes rose – Cas—?

It was Sam.

Dean frowned at the sandwich, sprinkling it with pepper.

“You should tell him,” Sam said quietly, so nobody could overhear. “No, screw that – you _need_ to tell him.”

“Nothin’ to tell,” Dean said.

“You don’t want him to leave,” Sam frowned. “Dean, he doesn’t _know_ that.”

“ _He_ wants to go,” Dean scowled. “This was his plan, all along. He’s a _bat sprite_ , Sammy. He can finally fly again – at least a bit. He’s not gonna waste his life down here with us, not when his kind are flapping around the Heavens. He’s been knocked off-course long enough. He’s about to get himself back on track, I’m not gonna ruin that for him.”

Sam sighed. “Did you ever think that maybe he’s so keen on leaving _because_ you never told him he’s welcome to stay?”

“Obviously,” Dean snorted. “But that’s not the point. He knows he has a home and family here. And he has the same elsewhere. Yeah, I want him to stay; we all do. But he needs to decide for himself.”

Sam spread his hands outwards from his face, exasperated. “Decide for himself, yes! But maybe – _just maybe_ – his decision would be influenced by your opinion. If you told him you wanted him to stay—”

“Then he would stay!” Dean glared at his brother. “Out of duty to me. Feeling guilty for making me sad. He’d stay forever. But he needs to choose without me, Sam. Please. He doesn’t have the thing you and I have, where we ignore each other’s input and do it our own way, regardless. He wants to do everything right. Even his mistakes, he makes them with the best intentions. But there isn’t a right or wrong decision here, okay? If he catches one little hint that leaving would upset me, he’ll forget his own goals and just try and fix what he broke. And if what he broke is _me_ —”

Dean had to stop speaking, as his breath escaped him, and refused to come back.

He hung his head, then slapped a slice of bread on top of the world’s saddest sandwich. He wrapped it neatly in waterproof paper, tied it with a pretty string, and knotted it with a bow. He picked up an old chewed pencil and drew a happy smiling bat on the paper.

“I made him lunch,” Dean said.

Sam swallowed. His eyes looked pitying.

Dean set his jaw and strode away from Sam, back to Castiel. Cas was over by the pile of cushions and blankets, struggling to do up his lizard-skin armour.

“It definitely fit before,” Castiel muttered, undoing a buckle and wriggling it, as if that would help. “It must’ve shrunk while I wasn’t using it.”

“Sure it did,” Gilda said sweetly.

“Pff,” Dean said. He shoved the wrapped sandwich Castiel’s way. “C’mon, dude, you just gobbled up a few too many pastries. Don’t worry about it. Tasted good, right?”

With a sigh, Castiel took off the armour, handing it to Charlie. His tummy pudge showed for a second before he pulled his rainbow sweater back on. Dean averted his eyes before he could start blushing.

He felt the sandwich taken from his hand. Castiel smiled at the drawing on the paper, then smiled at Dean.

Dean took a small open-mouthed breath, but let it go, looking away.

“I won’t say goodbye,” Castiel said, stepping closer to Dean. “But...” He tilted his head, leaning in to kiss Dean chastely on the lips. “I want you to know, Dean, I had the time of my life here. With you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Dean managed a small, sad smirk. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

They held each other’s gaze for a little while.

Dean sank forward, eyes closed, and gave Castiel one last kiss. It was a long one. A soft one, a heartbroken one. Dean wanted it to be a hopeful one, but it wasn’t.

When they came apart, Dean stroked Castiel’s cheek. “Go on,” he said. “Those bat sprites ain’t gonna hang around waiting for you.”

Castiel nodded. He stepped back, taking his backpack from Jody. He slipped the tied-up sandwich over his wrist, using the bow’s loops as a bracelet. He wore his lizard-skin shoes, with bare legs under his overlarge sweater; once he had his backpack on, he was all set. His blue eyes moved from friend to friend, smiling at them all. Then, at last, he looked back at Dean.

He nodded.

Dean smiled back.

Sam was the one who opened the door. He halted Castiel before he stepped out; he took him by the shoulder and pulled him into a hug. Sam sighed. “Good luck out there, Cas.”

“Thank you.” Castiel stepped back, then went backwards through the door. “Thank you, all of you.” Sunlight caught on the frame of his attached wing, illuminating a point of white, gleaming over copper and brown cloth. “I’ll never forget you, my friends.”

Castiel turned hurried down Dean’s front path, leaping over baby bluebell flowers, backpack bouncing. He looked back, and with a cheerful wave, he ran off into the Garden and was soon hidden among its verdure.

Inside Dean’s nest there was a collective sigh of loss.

“Well,” Jody said quietly. “That’s that, I guess.”

The room fell quiet.

Dean swallowed. “Everyone get out.” He looked up at their unsure faces. “I mean it. _Out_. Go home.”

Sam murmured, “But Dean—”

“OUT.” Dean felt tears squeeze from his eyes. “Please! Everyone just— Just _go away_. Leave me alone!”

There was a shuffling of feet, and a muttering of sympathetic noises. By the time Dean could see through his tears, his nest was empty. He slammed the door, and was left in a solid, strangling silence.

The house had never been this quiet, nor this void of happiness.

Even Squishbeans was nowhere to be seen.

✿

Castiel panted as he ran, jumping over pebbles, wings out to balance him. His backpack hit his lower back each time he landed, straps tugging his shoulders, just above where his wings met his body. Green grass stalks and clambering vines bracketed his path, and the path led onward, onward.

Castiel looked back, hearing a patter-patter of scampering feet.

“Squishbeans!” Castiel cried, surprised to see the mouse leaping alongside him, keeping up. “You can’t come with me, Squishbeans.”

Squishbeans squeaked defiantly.

Castiel huffed. “You can come as far as Bobby’s treehouse, but then you have to stay. Understand?”

Squishbeans just sped up, bouncing ahead by a few paces. Castiel set his head down, and with renewed determination, he raced the mouse down the Garden path.

Eventually they came to Bobby’s tree, and Castiel climbed into the pulley lift. He tried to keep Squishbeans out, pushing her with his shoe, but the mouse was too determined; even once Castiel had lifted five or six inches from the ground, she _sprang_ up on strong back legs, claws scrabbling on the platform until she climbed safely to Castiel’s feet, shivering.

Castiel gazed down at her bulging black eyes, shining bright. “There’s no stopping you, is there?”

Squishbeans lay down on the platform and let Castiel pull them all the way up.

They stopped level with Bobby’s house, and Squishbeans jumped out first, landing cleanly on a bed of tree-bark moss. Castiel climbed out more carefully, tying up the lift. Bobby had seen him; a window screeched open. A moment later, the front door opened and Bobby came out, arms folded. He wore a pair of binoculars around his neck.

“The swarm’s headed Eastwards,” Bobby grunted. “Don’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to their flutterin’.”

“They go where the insects go,” Castiel said. “By sundown they’ll find a forest and roost.”

Bobby’s furry ears twitched either side of his hat, but he said nothing.

Castiel exhaled. His eyes gazed out upon the Garden, its lush greenery glowing in the midday Sun. Cicadas made the air sizzle softly; an insect buzzed past Castiel’s ear.

“Chin up, kid,” Bobby said. “You look like the sky’s fallin’.”

Castiel shrugged. “It does feel like that, a bit.” Fluffy grey piles of clouds bloomed in the distance, while the Sun carried on beaming over here. “I feel the sssstatic in the air now. Do you?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Me? Nope. Ain’t got those kinda senses.”

“No. I thought I’d lost them. They’ve been coming back, day by day.” Castiel reached to pet Squishbeans, who bobbed at his hip, pawing him for attention. Her soft ears folded under his loving hand. “I can hear... everything.” Castiel frowned, eyes turning to Bobby. “Your heartbeat. The whole Garden, growing. Every insect, every chrysalis breaking. I forgot what it was like.”

“Sounds like hell.”

Castiel quietly agreed. “Everything was muffled at home. I mean— In Dean’s nest. That’s not my home any more.”

Sadly, Castiel curled his fists, looking down at his shoes. His feet felt squashed.

“You better go if you’re goin’,” Bobby said. “Now or never, kid.”

With a small, aching smile, Castiel turned to look at Bobby. “Would it be terrible to admit, I’d rather it be never?”

Bobby harrumphed. “You wanna stay? You could if ya wanted. Sure Dean wouldn’t mind.”

Castiel blinked away tears. “That may well be true, but he hasn’t mentioned...” He trailed off, exhaling. “No,” he said, changing his mind. “No, I want to go. I _have_ to go.” He saw them now; the bat sprites formed a shadow across part of the sky, defying the wind, like a misbehaved raincloud. “My wilder instincts are growing so much stronger, Bobby. Something in me... it’s urging me to fly. I need to at least try.”

Bobby patted Castiel on the shoulder.

Castiel took a deep breath. “Thank you, Bobby. You too, Squishbeans. You’ve both been good to me, and I’ll always appreciate that.” He prepared to take flight, toes on the edge of the branch.

He hesitated. “If you could—” He looked back. “Could you please tell Dean...”

Bobby waited, one hand steady on Squishbeans’ head.

Castiel swallowed. “No... Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” One more smile. “So long.”

With that, he dropped from the tree. His freefall turned awkwardly; his backpack was too loose, and too heavy. Wings flared out; he went into a spinning dive, and panicked for a moment – but with a hefty flap, flap, _flap_ , he turned the right way up, and at last began to ascend.

He climbed to the height of the treetops, out into the blazing Sun. He was out of breath, but filled with excitement; only flying could give him this much exhilaration.

High above the Garden, he took this opportunity to soak up the view one last time. He circled around, spying his favourite places. Dean’s tree stump, the shining window of Charlie and Gilda’s underground cavern. Kevin’s rock home. Missouri’s low treehouse, Bobby and Jody’s tall treehouse. A dozen other places, a dozen other friends and acquaintances. All of it was gushing with colour.

Castiel turned to the grey sky, squinting to see the black swarm. With determination and a made-up mind, he started on his journey.

He chased the swarm; it was easy to follow. There was only one day of the year when bat sprites flew in the daytime, and were visible at a distance, and today was the day. After sundown, they’d be creatures of the night once again. Creatures of darkness. Sons and daughters of shadow.

Castiel hoped they wouldn’t mind his rainbow sweater. The black armour didn’t fit, after all. Maybe they wouldn’t approve of him bringing along his luggage – but his backpack was important! It held all his favourite things, given to him by all his favourite people. And he had his lunch, right here around his wrist. Castiel smiled, looking at the drawing of a smiley bat as he flew. Dean always knew how much the finishing touches improved a good meal.

After a while, the humidity of approaching clouds began to make Castiel’s forehead sweat. He flew on, sure he wasn’t that far behind the other sprites. The swarm did seem closer than before. He was only a little bit tired.

The sight of mountains looming through the rising fog made Castiel’s skin chill. He hadn’t seen mountains in a long time.

All the flapping was making him ache. He supposed he just needed a snack, but reaching for his beetle scratchings was too hard mid-flight. So he unwrapped a corner of his sandwich, and munched on it as he went.

He’d only eaten half when pain erupted in his side. A stitch! Oh, no. He breathed deeply, clutching his ribs as he fluttered and flapped onwards, convinced he shouldn’t stop.

He’d been flying for nearly an hour now, and he hadn’t yet caught up. He was closer, but... but as it hurt... he felt himself slowing...

No! He was not going to fail now because of a _sandwich_! Although it seemed wasteful, he let the rest of the sandwich go – even the paper with Dean’s cute drawing. Castiel watched it fall, lettuce flying out along with slices of cherry tomatoes. Castiel had flown past before it hit the ground. Some mole sprite down there would have a nice free lunch.

Ten minutes later, Castiel still felt the weight of his bag cutting into his shoulders. He’d packed too much.

He slid the bag off his back and took it into his hands, allowing himself to fall a few feet as he did. He struggled to regain his altitude, but once he dropped his favourite socks... then a sweater...

He was catching up! It was working!

Spurred on, Castiel flew faster. The stitch in his side faded after a while.

But when midday slid to afternoon... fatigue was hounding him, and he was unable to shake it. He could hear the tribe’s screeching, but when he screeched back, someone replied, but they did not slow down.

Castiel was falling behind.

He dropped his other sweater, and it unfolded as it fell.

He drank his nectar, then dropped the flask.

He dropped the tin of beetle scratchings without eating them.

He put his lucky bracelet around his wrist. But now he wore an almost-empty backpack, and he knew, after everything he’d dropped, it was senseless to keep this one thing. Though his heart clenched tight, he watched the yellow bag float down to the trees below. It was so small, it was only a speck.

Castiel still clung to his empty notebook, and the paints Dean had gifted to him so long ago. They were too precious to let go of.

However, even with everything gone, there was no helping the tiredness. He’d been flying for hours now. Sam’s wing attachment wasn’t permanent; it was meant to be taken off. Castiel had never worn it for this long before. Its clips had cut him many times in the past, but even over tough scar tissue, the clips _hurt_.

Castiel screeched out, one more time, begging the other sprites to slow for him, let him catch up. They heard him; he heard laughter, and some encouragement, but one voice – the leader – called back something Castiel had long-known. Something he’d quoted himself, once or twice.

“ _We stop for nobody,_ ” came the booming voice. “ _We slow down for nobody._ ”

“ _Yeah,_ ” cheered another voice. “ _Fly faster or die trying, sucker!_ ”

“But my wing doesn’t work right,” Castiel cried into the wind. “Please! I’ve come so far, I can’t stop now! It’s too far to fly back!”

“ _Get lost, bird food!_ ” came a shout. “ _You look like a Garden fairy!_ ”

“ _Just try harder!_ ” shouted someone else.

“ _My wing doesn’t work right and_ I’m _still here,_ ” encouraged another bat sprite.

“I can’t go as fast as you,” Castiel called. “I just need— Circle back— It’ll take you half a minute—”

He was out of breath now, sagging with every flap. He knew now: even if the sprites did come back for him, he couldn’t keep up. Even if he dropped his last remaining possessions and flew on, naked, he’d still fall behind straight away.

Castiel was drooping from the sky. He heard more shouts, a mixture of encouragement and insults. He tried to do as they said, he tried as hard as he possibly could – but that fact was, he wasn’t fast enough. He was nearly skimming the treetops now. With every third flap, he dropped another foot from the air.

“No,” he breathed, too exhausted to shout. “No, no, no, _no_!”

He trembled, and his shoes brushed a tree leaf. He bumped into a willowy twig, and it bent with his weight. He flopped on it, wings collapsing.

This was it. It was over.

Too far from the Garden to go back. Too slow to catch up. He looked into the sky and saw the swarm disappear into the approaching cloud, swallowed up by its mist. One last jeer echoed down, then came silence.

Overwhelming silence.

Castiel couldn’t believe the world was so quiet.

He climbed down to a gnarled, sturdy twig, poking out from the top of a tree. One hand grasped a taller part, where a single leaf waved, flag-like, in the breeze.

He didn’t know where he was. All he had left in the world were an empty book, a set of paints, and a few paintbrushes.

Glumly, he sat down, swinging his legs. His feet were visibly swollen in his lizard-skin shoes. Feeling cross, Castiel grunted and kicked off his shoes, happy to watch them tumble away and get lost among the tree leaves.

A sigh escaped him. But the sigh became a sob, and a moment later he curled forward, hugging his things and weeping, distraught. He was lost and alone and he’d thrown away _everything_! And for what? A uncaring migratory mass of disdain, flying along with no sense of empathy at all.

Castiel heard a small... a big... a huge _buzzzzzzing_.

Wiping away tears, he looked around frantically for the source of the noise. He found it: a fuzzy yellow-and-black bee had come to look at him.

“I’m not a flower,” Castiel told the bee, tearfully. “I already drank all my nectar, I’m sorry. I don’t have any to share.”

_Bzz, bzzzzzz._

Castiel sniffed. “My friend Charlie gave me this sweater,” he said, showing the bee his rainbow sleeve. “Oh, what’ve I done? I’ll never get back home, now. My friends won’t even know I failed.”

The bee landed on the twig, little black legs trotting closer. Its eyes were big and curious, antennae wiggling. It climbed onto Castiel’s arm, walking around in confusion.

“Silly bee. I told you,” Castiel smiled, “I’m not a flower. I’m a bat ssssprite. Or, at least... I thought I was.” Forlornly, he looked up at the sky. Clouds began to grumble, growing even larger. A Springtime rain shower was on its way.

With a sigh, Castiel reached to stroke the bee’s soft back. The creature seemed surprised, turning to examine Castiel’s hand. Castiel let them poke at him with a pointy foot.

“See, the thing is with Garden fairies,” Castiel mused, “while they might not have understood me, or my... my loss, or my culture, they tried to. We learned a lot about each other. They weren’t perfect hosts at first, but by thunder, little bee, they were willing to change. And ssssso was I,” he realised. “I was happy to change. I wanted to be different, I wanted to be better. I couldn’t always _be_ better, or fully-functional, but... they accommodated for that. They could see I was trying hard, harder than they’ve ever needed to.”

Castiel swallowed, stroking the bee again. The bee settled under his hand, bewildered by the attention, but accepting it anyway.

“Deep down, I always knew the bat sprites would turn me away,” Castiel chuckled, berating himself. “They slow down for nobody. And look at me! Even _you_ think I’m a flower. Your hive would reject you too, if you came home wearing a knitted sssweater. I’m not a Garden fairy. But I don’t belong in a swarm either, do I? So where _am_ I meant to be?”

Ponderously, Castiel looked out at the forest before him, all around.

Thunder began to roll, pummelling the air. The bee buzzed, more upset by the humidity than the terrible, deafening noise.

“You’d better fly on home, little bee,” Castiel told them. “Don’t want your wings to get wet.”

The bee buzzed up, flying around Castiel. They hovered inches from his face, looking at him patiently.

“What?” Castiel asked the bee. “Do you need something?”

The bee buzzed closer, looking determined. _Bzzz, ZZZ!_

They flew away a short way, then came back. Then they went away again, waiting mid-air.

“Do... Do you want me to follow you?” Castiel asked.

The bee just flew a little farther, then waited. Castiel picked up his book and paints and brushes, then jumped off the twig, flapping furiously to reach the bee without falling. The bee flew along, and Castiel followed. He smiled. He’d found a new friend.

✿

The bee did not lead Castiel to a hive. They led him to a gash in a tree, far too small for Castiel to get inside.

Castiel plopped down on a branch, exhausted. The bee went in and out of their home’s front door, waiting for Castiel.

“I’m too big,” Castiel said sadly. “It’s okay, friend, you can go in. I don’t mind the rain so much.”

The bee buzzed a goodnight, then popped back inside to sleep.

Castiel shuffled so his back was against the tree trunk. He rested for a while, breathing deeply, looking up at the darkening sky through the tree canopy.

His little bee friend didn’t have a family either. But they had their own home, and they seemed happy enough. All by themselves...

Though he was drained of physical energy, Castiel summoned enough strength to unclip his prosthetic wing. He hissed as he did; he was injured, and it stung horribly. But as soon as it was off, he sighed in relief. He folded the wing neatly on his lap.

Despite his obvious need for sleep, after a few minutes of rest, he curiously still had a drive to create. He opened up his blank book. He snapped open his case of paints, and he took out a paintbrush. He didn’t have to wait long before a raindrop splooshed on a nearby leaf. He plucked the leaf, and used it as a paint palette, mixing his colours with the drop of water.

On the first page of his notebook, he painted a picture of himself. In the painting he was wearing his last sweater, sitting on a twig with a leaf like a flag, saying hello to his new bee friend.

He closed the book before the rain could ruin his art. He kept it close to his heart, hugging it, even while he slept.

✿

For each day of the following week, Castiel attached his second wing every morning. He flew as far as he could, searching far and wide for his lost belongings. He met strange fairies – some of the older folks didn’t want to talk to him; he was a bat sprite after all – but some were very helpful. In just four days, working from fairies’ rumours and hearsay alone, Castiel had recovered his backpack – more than a little grubby, but in one piece all the same.

Now he had somewhere to put his book and paints, making them much easier to carry. (His bee friend was offended the backpack was _also_ not a flower.)

It took another three days before Castiel found his tin of beetle scratchings. Up until that point, he’d been eating rare berries and the occasional non-poisonous mushroom. His bee had even demonstrated how to extract nectar from flowers, and they’d shared a few droplets in an uninhabited Garden.

When Castiel found the tin of beetle scratchings, he was so hungry he _had_ to eat them. He didn’t let his bee friend see, in case it upset them. Although Castiel prefered to eat what the Garden fairies ate, his body required the sustenance of bugs, or he felt all blurry inside. He was resolved not to dwell on the subject, or think too deeply about what he was eating. He ate, then he got on with his search.

After two weeks, Castiel returned proudly to the branch outside his bee friend’s home, as he had every night. There, he set his backpack in the hammock he’d made himself, swinging high over the forest floor.

He looked through his bag, beaming. All his things were here. He’d found his two rainbow sweaters, his favourite socks (missing a toe, but good enough), an empty snack tin, a flask filled with fresh nectar. And, most impressively of all, he’d found the waterproof sandwich wrap with a bat drawn on it. It still made him smile.

This forest wasn’t exactly small. Castiel was. His possessions were even tinier. Had it not been for his penchant for bright colours, and if not for observant fairyfolk with their eyes turned to the sky to see the bat sprites passing over when they did, Castiel’s things would’ve been lost forever.

He’d never talked to so many fairies in his _life_.

Other fairies had scavenged his things and wanted to keep them. Finders, keepers – that was the rule, after all. Some things had been returned in exchange for nothing. But he’d had to trade for a few items. He’d painted a mushroom on a squirrel sprite’s door to get a sweater back. He’d painted a portrait of a bird sprite’s whole family to get his socks back (which, by the way, were being used as nesting material for the chicks). Thankfully it was a friendly exchange; Castiel had gotten a few delicious meals in the process, too.

To retrieve his flask, he was instructed to acquire a circular window frame, but to get the window frame he had to trade for an uncommon type of nut, known for their high protein content. To get those, he’d painted a dining table for a rather peculiar lizard sprite, who, for some reason, wanted to teach Castiel how to sing. She found the rare nuts within a single hour, and Castiel had his flask by evening. He was given some nuts to take with him. He’d learned a new song, too.

To say Castiel was exhausted would be an understatement. Castiel was sure he could’ve expired from how tired he was, in every possible way a sprite _could_ be tired. But he wasn’t giving in. He was just going to rest, and then he’d do something else. Something like decorate his new home.

He peered around at his treehouse. He’d built a roof, he’d built a floor. Being able to hang upside down was very useful when it came to building.

Yes, he missed having walls, and a cushy bed, and a warm friend to cuddle. Oh, he missed that terribly. But, as each night passed, he was slowly getting used to the cold again. Things would be fine.

Surely they would.

They kind of _had_ to be, now.


	7. The Greens Darken and Petals Fall in Eddies

Dean felt the breeze ruffling his hair. It was pleasantly warm, and moist. He sensed oncoming rain. He knelt in silence, his hands grubby, placed with love around a mound of fresh dirt.

As a full-grown flower fairy, he had a certain amount of influence on the flowers. Older generations of fairies used to call it Magic; to raise a root from a seed was indeed a spectacular act. But there was more to it than a click of the fingers, or a simple touch. Dean had churned the earth, he’d fed the soil with nutrients. He’d collected seeds, and he’d chased away birds as he planted them. A lot of hard work went into doing what Dean did. It could well have been Magic all along, but to anyone who didn’t understand, calling it a supernatural act might downplay everything else that went into it. Dean called it a skill.

Now he cupped his hands over the quiet buried seed, and he closed his eyes. He’d done this a thousand times a year since he was little. It wasn’t a job; it was his _purpose_. He did it, just because.

The tiny seed wanted to grow. Dean told it it was the right time now; he’d look after it. He spoke in his mind, words travelling through his fingertips and into the soil.

The seed heard his promise, and reached for him.

Dean grinned, opening his eyes to see a green shoot poking out from between his fingers.

“Hey there, buddy,” Dean said. “Welcome to the world.”

The shoot grew a little more, spreading its leaves out. It seemed happy. Dean was delighted.

But then the shoot looked tired, and it sighed. It drooped a bit, then fell over in exhaustion.

“What— Hey, hey, no—” Dean cupped its leaves, trying to coax it back to life. “Don’t give up! Hey! C’mon!”

The shoot refused. It ignored Dean and went to sleep.

Dean sat back on his heels, distressed. He looked to his left, and saw a line of comatose plants. It didn’t matter what kind he planted, where he planted them, or what he did _at all_ – they all flopped over in the end.

He heard a flutter of butterfly wings, and looked up with tearful eyes, watching Charlie descend with her arms full. “Got your sleigh harness fixed up,” she said, landing beside Dean, laying the leather-like reins and buckles on the ground. “I swapped this for a small bottle of lightning – you owe me a really big cake. Or a potted plant.”

Dean huffed. “Cake it is.” He gestured at his failed flowerbed, stretching as far as Missouri’s tree. “Looks like my corner of the Garden’s staying bleak this year.”

Charlie knelt beside him. “Can’t get it up, huh?”

Dean pulled a sour expression. “I dunno what’s wrong with me. I know it’s not the seeds – Sam’s section is blooming like crazy. His sunflowers are really going for the ‘sky’s the limit’ thing. But look at my sunflowers. Same batch.” Dean gestured to a patch of sagging stems.

“Maybe you’re not eating right,” Charlie shrugged. “Or not sleeping enough.”

Dean scoffed. “Probably both. Food tastes like nothing. And I’m tossing and turning the whole time.”

“Do you need a new bed? Or I can cook your meals for a while, if you need that?”

Dean shook his head. “What I need...” he lowered his chin, “ain’t comin’ back.”

Charlie quickly realised what Dean meant. “This is about Cas? Oh... You must miss him...” She reached to rub his arm soothingly.

Dean couldn’t meet her eyes. He missed Cas more than he could ever say in words. It felt like sadness had swollen inside him, devouring everything else, growing darker and darker, robbing him of care, leaving him wasted, and all that was left inside Dean was loneliness.

“I know it’s him, Charlie. The stories we keep hearing from other Gardens... they _have_ to be about him.”

“It’s a promising idea. But we can’t be sure, Dean,” Charlie reminded him. “The world is scattered with all kinds of fairies. Even in this Garden – we’ve got butterfly sprites and squirrel sprites, right alongside flower fairies. There’s always folks who separate from their own kind. There’s no reason that a solitary bat sprite in the forest _has_ to be Cas, you know?”

“Don’t you ever get a feeling?” Dean looked at Charlie imploringly. “Deep inside, in your belly. A lurch, a pang. A tingle. A thought that won’t go away. Something that you have no reason to know, that you know anyway...?”

Charlie shrugged.

“It’s Cas,” Dean said, firmly. “He must’ve lost his tribe. Or— Or he changed his mind. And settled in the forest.”

Morose thoughts reminded him that if Cas hadn’t come back yet, he had a good reason to stay away. Maybe he didn’t want to come back. Or maybe he couldn’t.

“You should visit him someday,” Charlie said, putting a warm, clean hand on Dean’s dirty one. “Even if he’s happy where he is, I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

Dean nodded. But Charlie’s suggestion started whirring in his mind. Yeah! Yeah, he wanted to visit Cas! Even Cas wasn’t coming back, just seeing him would shine brightness into Dean’s sad little heart, he was sure of it.

Dean heard Charlie muttering, and he blinked back out of his thoughts. “What?”

“I said grab your tools,” Charlie repeated, picking up the sleigh harness she’d delivered. “Pack up. It’s going to rain, and the birds are hungry.”

Dean tutted. The sky was indeed boiling with clouds, the darkest looming overhead. Shaking his head, he collected his trowel and his mini rake, and all the other items he’d been using. He tucked them all into loops in his special Gardening belt, and stood up.

“Quickly,” Charlie said, sweeping a hand in encouragement. “It’s spitting already.”

Dean felt the cold specks dashing across his face as he and Charlie hurried for shelter. They made it to the spread leaves of one of Sam’s sunflowers, and stood under it as the spitting turned to drizzle.

Dean scowled as a flock of sparrows descended upon his carefully-manicured dirt. “Ugh. _Birds_. Hey, you feathery pricks! I _traded_ for those worms! Quit treating them like a free lunch!”

Ignoring Dean, the sparrows hopped around, expecting the worms to come to the surface while it rained. Dean watched it happening and sulked. “I oughta pull my sand-shooter on these monsters,” he uttered. He wrapped his hand around the shooter’s handle, tucked in its holster on his belt.

“You could take on twenty sparrows, sure,” Charlie said. “They’re the same size as you.” She gripped Dean’s wrist to get him to stay put. “But look.”

Dean looked where Charlie pointed, and his heart sank. “One for sorrow.”

A magpie fluttered down from the gushing greenery of Bobby’s tree, black wings spread, its white belly covered halfway by a black bib. It touched down on the soil, bouncing along, long tail tapping each time it landed. It set its head down and proceeded to uproot some of Dean’s baby plants.

“You DICK!” Dean yelled. “You miserable dirty pointy-billed worm-sucking freak! I oughta hang you upside-down by your talons, asshat!”

Charlie smirked. “I see Cas’ insult style left a mark.”

Dean seethed. “He’s eating my sunflowers! Poor babies never got a chance— Here, give me that.” He snatched the sleigh harness out of Charlie’s grip. “That smug sonofabird’s gonna get what’s coming to him.”

“Dean— DEAN!” Charlie yelled after him, but Dean had already charged into battle.

“YAAAAAAAH!” Dean yelled, waving his arms around, frightening all the sparrows away at once. His feet sank into soft dirt, and he tripped twice, but both times he got up again, mouse reins in hand, waggling them at any birds who dared flutter back.

The magpie remained unperturbed, however; it glanced at Dean, then continued pecking up seeds from under the dirt. Dean approached it without caution, fury building in him until he just felt like a speck of untempered rage. He took a run at the magpie, reins ready to snare the beast.

The magpie flinched as Dean leapt; it spread its wings to take off, but Dean landed on its back as it rose. He tossed Squishbeans’ reins around the monster’s throat and bill, making it caw in surprise. It flapped hap-hazardly a few feet above the ground, landing twice, hopping unsteadily, wings flared to try and displace its passenger. But Dean held on tight, forgetting to be scared.

“Serves you right,” Dean said to it, straddling its back, thighs tense. “Now...” He smiled, as a previously far-fetched idea solidified in his mind. “Now, you’re going to take me to see my friend.”

The magpie cawed.

“I’m not messing about, all right!” Dean shouted. “Get going!”

Plenty of fairies would’ve assumed the bird didn’t comprehend the instruction. But, as Dean understood things, corvids were exceptionally intelligent. Dean supposed the magpie considered its options, realised it had been decidedly _commandeered_ as a mode of transport, and resigned itself to knowing this was, in fact, how its day was going, now and hereafter. It didn’t want a fight.

So it took off.

“Dean!” Charlie shouted from the ground, startled that he was actually following through. “Dean— Dammit, just be careful!”

“Don’t worry!” Dean shouted down, both hands gripping the reins. “I’ll tell Cas you said hi!”

He grinned, refreshed by the water droplets that lashed against his face. He twisted his hands tighter into the harness, making sure he wouldn’t fall off. The bird obviously didn’t know where to go, so it tried to go home to a nearby tree.

“Oh, no,” Dean said, pulling the reins and guiding the bird’s beak to the right. “We got a long way to go, yet, buster. We’re going towards the mountains. That’s where the bat sprites went.”

Perhaps Dean’s skills went beyond his ability to bring life to seedlings, or fuel a community with good food. He was pretty stellar at riding birds, too, as it turned out. The magpie fought for a while, flying in random directions, up and down and all about. But Dean held steady. He was strong for a flower fairy. He guided the magpie back on track, and soon enough, they escaped the bad weather, emerging through a rainbow.

Dean gasped, exhilarated by the sight before him. He’d known there was a forest out here since he was a baby, but he’d never seen it from above. It extended miles into the distance – so distant that the end of it was submerged in mist. From there, the mountains grew like rocky masses from a soft bed of haze.

Out here, the Sun shone. The trees whispered, sparkling leaves turning their undersides trustingly towards the light. As Dean and his bird passed over, Dean spied clearings among the trees, speckled with pleasant pastel colours. Communities of fairyfolk must live there, Dean thought. There was so much more to the world than a few flowery Gardens. This expanse was mighty.

When Dean saw a lake, shining like molten metal, he shivered in awe. Without a second thought, he guided the bird lower so he could take a good look.

“There’s fairies down there,” Dean remarked, smiling. “Let’s go down.”

He confused the bird at first, guiding it in a circle. But the magpie got the idea soon enough, and circled down in a screw-like fashion, descending until it stretched out its feet and tap-tap-tumbled to the grass. This grass was different to Dean’s idea of grass. It was kept short – knee-height to the magpie – and each blade was smooth and round.

Dean didn’t get off his steed, in case the bird flew away. But he saw a crowd approaching, and he felt a thrill. These fairies were all dark-skinned, clothed in fancy, frilly dresses, carrying parasols, their cheeks painted with rouge. Dean marvelled at them as they surrounded his twitchy bird, patting its legs and talking amongst themselves in a peculiar accent.

“Uh... h-hi,” Dean announced. “I’m Dean. I come from a foreign Garden, in search of... my friend. His name’s Castiel. About yea high, blue eyes, probably wearing a prosthetic wing and a rainbow sweater. Maybe you’ve heard stories about him? Did he pass through here?”

The fairies began to whisper, wide-eyed. Some looked towards the lake, some looked towards a wheeled stand where a dormouse sprite was handing out ice candy. Dean thought this was mysterious, until one fairy yelled, “Oi, G-man! This fella wants a natter.”

The dormouse squeaked, dropping an ice cone. He quickly picked it up and ate it, then told his customer to please wait. He scurried up to Dean and his magpie, mousey ears a-twitching, apron scrunched in his nervous hands.

Dean gaped, unsure what to do. “Um. You wouldn’t happen to know a Castiel, would you?”

The dormouse sprite’s face lit up. “Oh, that-t-t-t delightful fellow! He came by a few weeks ago. He wanted a certain sweater, one I found float-t-t-ting down out of the sky one day. He painted my cart for me! Good chap.”

Dean’s body rushed with happiness as he saw the cute paintings on the ice candy cart and recognised the art style. “Yeah,” he breathed, filled with pride. “Yeah, that’s my bat buddy, all right. Where’d he go?”

All the frilly parasol-toting fairies pointed in one direction, up towards the mountains.

“Awesome. Thanks a lot,” Dean said, already ready to journey on. Part of him wanted to stick around. He’d stumbled a whole different culture he’d never had the chance to experience, and he wanted to learn about it. But finding Cas was more important right now.

“Before you fly off,” the dormouse said, “I couldn’t interest-t-t-t you in some ice candy, could I?”

Dean grinned. “Sure. Why not.” He looked around for something to trade, but found only what was on his belt. Hesitantly, he pulled out a small rake with a short handle. “From my Garden.”

The dormouse accepted the gift like it was the most exciting thing he’d ever seen. He ran off, then came back with two ice candies and a sunflower seed. “A snack for your bird,” he said, standing on tiptoes and offering the seed to the bird. The magpie tilted its head in confusion, then pecked it right out of the sprite’s hands.

Dean licked his candy, and shivered at the taste of raspberry and sugar. “Mmm.”

“Castiel ate twelve of those,” the dormouse sprite mentioned. “I say, why don’t you t-t-take some more.” He left and came back with a small sack, presumably full of dry, non-iced candy that wouldn’t melt. “Now it’s decorated, my cart makes me happier than _ever_ before! Your bat sprite friend did a t-t-terribly splendid job.”

Grinning, Dean strapped the sack to a looser part of the reins, and tucked it behind him. His mouth was full of candy, but he nodded his gratitude to his new acquaintance. He then spurred his steed into a trot. The magpie hop-hop-jumped, and soon flew over the lake, gliding smoothly.

Dean looked down and saw his reflection in the water, poking out past the bird’s side, smiling against a backdrop of blue sky.

So! All the stories he’d heard were true! They _were_ about Cas. Clever little bat sprite had gone around making friends. Dean was so proud he could’ve cheered.

And so he did. He spread his arms and felt the freedom of flight, carefree as to the distance downwards, excited by the swoop in his belly as the bird ascended. “WOOOO!” he hollered into the forest, so pleased to be going where he was going, and to have been where he had gone. His tiny voice echoed back, carried with a hush of petals pulled off their old flowers, twirling amidst leaves. The air sparkled, and so did Dean.

Dean and his bird had a mighty adventure that day. They flew from community to community, landing to ask about a bat sprite with one wing and a taste for sugar. Each time Dean discovered a new place, new people, and new stories.

It seemed apparent that Cas had gone around helping people out, cheering up children, trading art and smiles for food and random items. Part of Dean couldn’t quite believe this was the same bat sprite who once prefered to hide rather than meet a stranger, but there was no denying it. Cas had changed. He’d grown. He’d become... independent.

Not too many Circuits ago, Dean had thought he’d feel upset if Cas ever stopped needing him. And he had; his heart broke when Cas left. But what Castiel had done wasn’t the same as abandoning Dean and the folks in the Garden to go find some other group. He’d left to go find.... himself. And, clearly, he’d succeeded.

Dean met a family of bird sprites with a portrait of themselves hung on their wall. The smallest, cutest bird sprite gave Dean a pair of socks, insisting they were _very important_. Dean said thank-you, accepted the socks graciously, and didn’t question it. (The magpie thought all these not-quite-birds were very strange indeed.)

By chance, while asking around about Cas in a small and busy village, Dean spied a mushroom painted on someone’s front door: a tidy archway set into the base of a tree. Guiding his magpie over by the reins, Dean knocked, heart in his throat. He met the squirrel sprite inside; she was overjoyed to meet a friend of Castiel’s, and gave Dean a coat she’d been meaning to give away. Dean tried to give her a trowel in exchange, but, like many others, she insisted Castiel deserved more than what she’d originally given him.

It seemed like several fairies had begrudgingly allowed Castiel to paint something of theirs, thinking they weren’t getting all that much in exchange for what Cas asked for. Only, once Castiel had moved on, they came to appreciate their gift, more and more each day.

Castiel had a Magic in him, too, Dean thought. His creations held power; they had the power to make people smile. It was a gift often overlooked, but it was nevertheless a valuable one.

By mid-afternoon, Dean and his magpie had flown all around the forest, back and forth, changing direction. In a bustling place of bridges, shrubs, and sellers’ carts (which the local fairies lovingly called ‘greengrocers’), Dean traded his trowel and a pocketful of plant seeds for a map of the forest.

He sat down with his back resting against his magpie, muttering as he traced a line between his own Garden and everywhere else he’d visited today. He placed grains of sand wherever he’d made a stop, and pebbles wherever he’d found evidence of Castiel’s presence. 

“What’d’ya think?” he asked, showing the magpie the map. All the pebbles lined up. “Kinda looks like a straight line, right?”

The magpie closed his eyes. He was a tired magpie.

Dean patted the bird’s side. “You’re doing good, buddy. If this map is anything to go by... Cas... should be... right about.... _here_.” He placed a heart-shaped pebble on the map, indicating a place not too far from where they were now. “You up for that? C’mon, I’ll treat you. That nice singing lizard gave us more nuts than you can carry, should be good eatin’.”

Dean got up, stroking the magpie’s sleek neck feathers. “For the record, birdie, I forgive you for gobbling up my baby plants. You were just hungry, weren’t you?”

The magpie chak-chak-chakked, then yawned. Dean had never seen a bird yawn before. He didn’t know they stuck out their tongues.

Dean gave the magpie some of the special nuts, and the bird tiredly pecked apart a couple of them to eat. All at once, he was bounding with energy, and hopped to his feet, ready to go.

“Boy,” Dean chuckled, looking at the sack of nuts. “What’s in these things?”

The magpie bounced in place, wings flapping.

“All right, all right, we’re going,” Dean laughed, folding up his map lopsidedly in his rush, letting the sand and the pebbles tumble away. He pocketed the heart-shaped one. “We’re heading Eastwards. Ready? Hang on, let me— WhooAAA!” Dean hung on tight to the reins as the magpie took off before he was seated; Dean trailed out behind as the bird rushed up into the sky. All the food and items he’d collected all fluttered like flags behind him, all tied on a new rope on the reins so they wouldn’t fall.

It took all of Dean’s strength to get up onto the magpie’s back, and when he did, he wrapped his arms around the bird’s neck, hanging tight as they swooped and sauntered through the air. The bird wasn’t just energetic, he was having _fun_. Dean grinned, and watched the ground far below, as the forest fairies looked up to watch him pass by. It must not be every day that a ground fairy flew overhead, riding a bird.

For most of his life, Dean had been afraid of heights. But it didn’t seem so bad now, because he was so very _determined_. He was going to find Cas! He’d do the scariest things in the world, so long as it meant he got to see Cas for his trouble.

Dean and his bird got a minute further into the forest before Dean began scouring the ground for any sign of civilisation. He was looking for rooftops, smoking chimneys, a striped carousel, or a marching band – anything. Surely Cas settled with some friendly folks in a cute Garden town. Somewhere around here...

Dean heard the caw of a magpie, and looked down, wondering what his bird had seen. But it was not Dean’s magpie who shouted: it was another bird, rising from the forest, chasing insects. Dean’s magpie got excited, dropping six feet all at once, leaving Dean dizzy and shaken and disoriented. He gripped the reins with all his strength as the bird swooped low again, chasing after the other magpie.

“Hey!” Dean yelped, as the birds changed direction and threw his internal compass out. “Great! Now I’m gonna have to pull the map out again!” Yet he could not; they were still speeding along, bumping through the air as Dean’s magpie nipped at the other one’s tail, playing over the treetops.

“Slow down!” Dean cried. “So help me, birdie, I will _turn you back around_.”

Yet he could not. The bird had his own ideas.

When the magpie chased his new friend into the treetops, Dean shrieked and ducked down, holding on for dear life as twigs and branches whipped past him. He felt a drop his his stomach every few seconds; they bounced in the air, schwoop, schwoop, schwoop. Dean felt quite sick. He wanted to get off this ride now!

And then! All of a sudden, they hit something soft, and slowed, turning in the air, around and around, over and over and over, spinning head over heels, faster and faster until they stopped. Dean’s bird fell away with a caw of surprise, the new coat and bags of nuts and candy were all flung at once into a nearby bush, and Dean was left... alone. Tangled up, and dizzy.

He was upside-down, looking at the forest floor far below. Dappled sunlight drifted across fallen leaves; birdsong echoed sweetly, trees hushed. Were it not for Dean’s pounding heart, he might’ve found this quite peaceful.

“H... Hello?” Dean called, hearing his voice echo. “I think... I think I’m stuck in a trap? Anyone there? I kinda need some help.”

Distantly, he heard the magpies playing in the trees. They’d forgotten about him.

Dean struggled, but he was too tightly bound. He tried to see what he was trapped in... It seemed to be a kind of net.

“Definitely a trap,” he uttered.

What if it was a fairy trap? Oh no.

Dean squirmed and wriggled, to no avail. He tried to reach the knife in his belt, but his hands were tied up. He pouted.

After a few bothersome minutes of fruitless wriggling, Dean stopped. He heard a buzzing.

“Is someone there?”

_Bzz. Bzzzzzz._

Dean turned his eyes enough to see. “Shoo!” he said to the bee, who approached with caution. “This is _my_ candy, get your own.”

_Bzzzzzzzzzzz._

Dean scrunched up his face and closed his eyes as the bee came to inspect him. He felt it tickling his cheeks, buzzing louder than ever. Then it flew away.

Dean peered around, but he was alone again. He sighed.

And then...

_Flup... flup... flupflupflup – poof!_

On the forest floor, Dean saw the great shadow of a winged fairy who just landed behind him. With huge wings, spread out, the figure stood proudly on a tree branch.

“Cas,” Dean breathed. His insides came alight with joy.

Magpies... _Two for joy_.

“Cas, it’s me!” Dean called. “I came to visit you. Heh. Surpriiise.”

Castiel chuckled. “You couldn’t have found a gentler way to announce yourself, could you?”

Dean beamed. He wanted to deliver a witty comeback, but he was rendered speechless by his happiness. “I’m so glad... Cas... I missed you so bad, you don’t even know...”

Dean felt his suspended self being rotated in mid-air. He now faced Castiel, who was close enough to touch, gazing at him with all the affection in the world. “I can imagine,” Castiel said. “I missed you too, Dean.”

Dean gulped. “You, uh... gonna let me out of this trap?”

“Trap?” Castiel squinted. “Dean, this is a hammock. You collided with a bed.”

Dean spluttered indignantly. Castiel rolled his eyes and pushed Dean, and he untangled in a spinning roll, finally flopping out with a yelp. Castiel grabbed him before he fell too far, and flew him back to the tree branch, Dean’s arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Your hair’s grown,” Dean noticed, as Castiel placed him safely on two feet. “You’re all bristly.” He stroked Castiel’s face. “All tough and rugged now, huh?”

Castiel touched his own prickly cheek, brushing Dean’s fingers. “It grows when I get cold.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he considered the implication. He looked around again: there was a platform on the tree branch; there was a roof. There was a pile of fluff that could potentially be called a couch. There was the same bee, hovering, watching interestedly.

Dean’s heart sank. “You live here. Outside. Alone. In the forest?”

Castiel shrugged. “I have my bee friend. I’m not alone.”

Dean felt his eyes watering. “But... your tribe?”

Castiel shook his head. “Their community wasn’t right for me.” He raised his prosthetic wing, and the Sun shone through the patched fabric and the red-veined membrane of his real wing, showing Dean the scars of half-healed injuries. “I couldn’t keep up. And even if I could, I found their ideals... toxsssic. To fairies with kinder hearts, there’s no reason I should be considered any less able than anyone else. The sprites... they weren’t willing to accommodate for my higher needs.” He shrugged again.

Dean choked on his own breath, but forced out what he’d been wishing he could’ve said all along. “Won’t you come back? Back to the Garden. I can see you’re all settled here, but— But we miss you. We want you there, Cas. It’s... It’s your home.”

Castiel looked at him with sad eyes. “It _was_ my home.”

When Dean could only look confused, Castiel explained, “I loved being there, Dean. But you... you never assssked me to stay. Since you didn’t much care if I left, I thought... I’d better go where instinct led me. This place is my home now.”

Dean was flabbergasted. “Didn’t much care— Cas, I care! I never wanted you to leave. But you never would’ve gone if I told you that I— If... if I said—”

He huffed and started over. “ _Look_ , the point _is_ , I’m proud of you for doing everything you’ve done alone. I met so many people – you’ve _changed_ them. You’ve changed the minds of half the forest, Cas. They all think bat sprites are neat and sweet like you, now. Don’t get me wrong, okay, I am _so_ damn glad you took this opportunity to grow by yourself. But how dare you say I don’t care about you. Of course I _care_. I wouldn’t be _here_ if I didn’t care.”

Castiel looked utterly perplexed. “But you let me leave. You never said a word to stop me!”

“I was—” Dean folded his arms, furious... then sad. He sagged on his feet and looked down, arms open. “I was scared. Shy. Ashamed. I don’t know. Even before Winter Solstice, once I realised how I... _felt_ about you, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I wanted you to stay forever, Cas. But I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping quiet so you’d go follow your dreams.”

Castiel still looked perplexed. But he took a breath, and admitted, “After staying with you, my dreams and my needs were irrevocably altered. And I didn’t realise it until I left you behind. I don’t need a tribe, Dean, I need a _family_. Even the day I left, I wanted to come back to you, but I thought... perhaps I wouldn’t be welcome. I’d stayed as long as you said I could. So, then, when you then said nothing... I left.”

Dean hugged himself. His most important words sat demandingly on his tongue, begging to be spoken.

“What were you scared of?” Castiel asked now, stepping closer. He touched Dean’s hand. “What do you feel about me that was too frightening to share?”

Dean felt soft inside all of a sudden. And warm, and hopeful, and full of light. “I— I love you, Cas. I wanna—” He stepped closer, taking Castiel’s hand more tightly. “I wanna share my nest with you. And bake with you, and cuddle, and raise flowers together, forever and ever and I’m so _SORRY_ I let you leave without telling you. You should’ve had the chance to decide, with all the facts in mind. There was no right or wrong decision for you to make back then, but what was wrong was me making the choice _for_ you. I’m sorry.”

Castiel was silent, gaze steady, lips parted. Slowly, he tilted his head. “You love me?”

“So, so, so much.” Dean’s lower lip wibbled. “In the friend way, and... another way. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s just – more. There’s _so much_ love, Cas.” He sighed, full of emotion. “Fact is, it’s not just that I don’t _want_ to leave here without you. Honestly, Cas, I don’t think I _can_.”

Castiel swallowed. “The kind of love you’re describing... is it, by chance, very loud, in your heart, and your tummy, and your head? Ssssometimes in your toes, too. And it’s very... squishy. And snuggly. And it always want a hug, and sometimes a kiss?”

Dean smirked. “Uh. That’s kind of abstract, but yeah, I guess. Yeah.”

“Sometimes lots and lots and lots of kisses. Wing kisses, and nuzzles. And mouth kisses.” Castiel's fingers touched Dean’s lips, so very tenderly. “Very slow, very tingly mouth kisses. Forever and ever. Yes?” His eyes flicked up to meet Dean’s, questioning.

Dean blinked. “Cas... you know, it kinda maybe sounds like you might know a little somethin’ about that sort of love.”

Castiel’s gaze dipped to Dean’s heart, and he shrugged a single shoulder. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ you to go back to the Garden without me. It’s more that I don’t think I can _let_ you.”

The rush in Dean’s insides felt like he’d been bucked into the air by ten hyped-up magpies at once. “What’d’ya gonna do,” Dean said quietly. “Wrap me up in your hammock net again so I can’t escape?”

Castiel chuckled, almost-winking. “Close enough. We could sleep in it. Together. While cuddling and kissing an awful lot. I think I’m owed sssseveral hundred wing kisses.”

Dean smiled so widely he thought his face would break. “‘Kay.”

“Then, tomorrow...” Castiel leaned in, and gave Dean a slow smooch on the lips. Blissful relief swept them both, stealing their breath away. Castiel’s eyes were left sparkling. “Tomorrow, Dean, we’ll fly home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter ♥


	8. A Young Summer Nears the Height of its Radiance

At this time of the year, the Garden flourished. All the seeds had long ago taken root; the rainy season had passed, and the soil was left rich with life-giving nutrients. The plants grew strong, shining in marvellous greens, with no need to stretch for the light, as there was light in abundance. The sparrows and magpies still came down to visit when it rained on occasion.

The blossom in the trees had fallen away, but Dean kept patches of colour growing bright in everyone’s yard, and in all the shared spaces. Three dozen kinds of flowers opened up each and every morning, perfuming the air in the Garden and turning it into a gorgeous Summertime sanctuary. The world seemed to hum a pleasant tune.

Well... that humming could be the bees. They were happy bees.

Not too far from the main part of the Garden, a five-minute sleigh ride Southwards, Dean and his friends had found a flat grassy area and had lain out their picnic blanket – a checkered item Sam had owned for _ever_ and never used until now. Two sleighs were parked side-by-side next to it. There were no mice under the reins.

On the blanket, the tiniest wicker basket lay open, and a satisfied-looking bee perched on its handle, smoothing bee feet over bee fluff, trying to get the sticky candy off. (Maybe they’d indulged a little too much.)

The fairies’ picnic had been eaten up, floral-painted plates left sparkling clean. Even the end crusts from a fresh loaf of bread were gone. An empty jar of blackberry jam was covered by a cloth. A pie tin contained nothing, except a curious ant, who grabbed the last crumb and scarpered before anyone would notice.

On one empty plate rested a set of cutlery: a spork, a spoon, and a knife, all engraved with Castiel’s name. They were used often, but they were still in perfect condition. They were very well-loved items.

Although the picnic blanket had recently been crowded, there were no fairies there now. The tiny imprints of little bare feet led away from the space. All together as a group, the fairies had followed a path made by much bigger animals.

Along the path they’d gone... past a rockery with a tumbling, cool-watered stream, just dipping into the shade, with a leaf floating on the surface. Past a warren in the ground that housed a family of young rabbits and their mother. The fairies had climbed up, over the mossy top of a log from a fallen tree, which was still growing even though it lay sideways.

Aha! There they all were.

Out in the sun, in a field growing with short grass, all the fairies tried to burn up their extra energy (they’d eaten lots of treacle tart), passing the time with a game of tag. Even grumpy old Bobby puffed and panted, tail swishing as he tried to outrun the not-much-faster Missouri.

Up above, sparkling in the blue sky, butterfly sprite Gilda danced to no music, hand-in-hand with Charlie. They spun around, fluttering their wings and twirling like fairies used to do in the old days. Nobody could tag them while they were in the air.

Or so they thought!

Up flew Castiel, who’d been flying low to the ground, trying very hard to be caught by Missouri. Finally it was his turn! He flap-flap-flapped up to meet Charlie and Gilda, and once they realised he was coming to get them, they shrieked and laughed and flew away as fast as they could. Castiel was faster, but he couldn’t make up his mind which friend to chase. He tried to chase them both, and got nowhere.

“Get me, Cas!” yelled Sam, down on the ground. “I haven’t had a turn yet!”

Castiel turned in mid-air and swept in a dive towards the ground, heading straight for Sam – only to discover he’d been tricked, and Sam had no intention of being caught. Everyone laughed and scattered, watching Castiel helplessly try and fail to chase each of them. Eventually Castiel got tired, and he flapped slower, looking dejected. All at once, everyone felt bad for him, and rushed to offer themselves as bait.

Castiel perked up immediately, and tagged anyone he could reach – Dean, Gilda, Kevin, Jody – then zoomed off into the sky, cackling to himself.

 _Sneaky lil’ bat sprite_ , Dean thought fondly.

With four fairies tagged ‘it’, the party descended into chaos, with everyone screeching excitedly as they tried to get away from everyone else, unsure who else was safe and who wasn’t. In moments, everything fell apart, as Kevin tried to slap anyone who came near him, and essentially rendered the game incomprehensible.

At this point in time, Dean wasn’t even sure if _he_ was ‘it’. Everyone was ‘it’. Squishbeans and Bumble, who’d joined the fray, were both also ‘it’.

In a mostly dignified manner, Castiel landed in the centre of it all, looking pointedly innocent.

Grinning a sideways grin, Dean offered Cas a high-five. Castiel fistbumped his hand. Dean rolled his eyes, then slung an arm over Castiel’s shoulders.

“All right, that’s enough excitement for me,” Dean said to the group, most of whom were teetering on their feet. “Juice break!”

Out of breath and flushed in the cheeks, everyone ambled back to their picnic site. Dean had brought fresh blueberries in his sleigh, and handed them out, along with straws. Everyone stabbed their berry with their piece of hay, and took a long, refreshing sip of fruit pulp.

Dean swallowed his in one sip, and looked disdainfully at the sagging berry. He could’ve sworn these packaged drinks lasted longer when he was a kid.

“Who wants to play stuck-in-the-mud?” Kevin shouted, having finished his drink too. “Charlie, you’re it!”

Dean rolled his eyes when nearly everyone got right up and ran back to play again. “Sam, you’re a full-grown adult,” Dean called to his brother.

“So what?” Sam replied, walking backwards, all five mice scampering underfoot. “Who said you have to stop having fun when you grow up?” With that, he turned and threw himself into the game with great enthusiasm. So did Jody. Because Jody shared his opinions, apparently.

Only Missouri and Bobby stayed behind, sipping Summertime wine on the picnic blanket like mature, dignified folks.

But when Dean looked beside him to the other seat in his sleigh, he was surprised to find Castiel still here. “You, uh... too grown up to play, too?”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m tired.” He unclipped his prosthetic wing and folded it up. “Those special nuts do make a good replacement for bugs, but I can’t sssay I’m ever going to be a high-energy bat sprite.”

Dean reached to touch his hand. “No shame in admitting it, right?”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m not ashamed. It’s just how things are. I like to watch everyone else having fun, anyway.”

Dean cleared his throat. “If we’re being honest here – I’m kind of all tuckered out too. Just don’t want Sam teasing me about it.”

“So pretending to be ‘too old to play’ is ssssomehow the better option next to ‘too tired to play’?”

“I don’t claim it makes sense, okay, it’s just what comes outta my mouth,” Dean shrugged. “In case you hadn’t noticed, how I feel and what I say on the subject don’t always match up.”

Castiel scoffed. “I did _vaguely_ surmise that was the case.” After a pause, he leant in, bumping shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean, headbutting him gently. “I’m glad you sssometimes express your true feelings. Those are very precious moments to me.”

“Yeah?” Dean raised his eyebrows interestedly.

Castiel nodded, gazing fondly at Dean. He leaned in and gave his nose a soft kiss. “Luckily I’ve gotten better at understanding what you _don’t_ say. Like when you get all _huffy_ , it probably means I forgot to do something I said I’d do. Although, Dean, I really wish you’d just _say_ , rather than huffing and frowning and saying ‘Nothing,’ when I ask what’ssss wrong, and leaving me to _guess_ at what slipped my mind.”

Dean pursed his lips. “Aw, hell. I do do that, don’t I.” When Castiel nodded, Dean sighed. “Well... if it makes you feel better, I could, uh... ‘share my feelings’ more often?”

Castiel beamed. “I would appreciate that. Preferably nice feelings, like ‘I love you’.”

Dean smiled at his knees. “Well, it is true, at least you know. I always love you. Even when I get huffy.” He slid his hand to hold Castiel’s. “Okay. I’ll grumble less and share the love more, how ‘bout that?”

Dean knew he only offered such a thing because Castiel never judged him for openness. He was a pure soul, that sprite. Dean would never talk like this with anyone else.

“What about now?” Castiel said, nudging his body up against Dean’s side. “What do you feel right this second?”

Dean barely needed to think about it. “Ahh. It’s a nice day, first off. Makes a flower fairy feel damn good. I’m grateful that we’re all here, and having fun.” He paused then, pondering. Then he took a breath to speak. “You know I—” he looked at Castiel, feeling shiny inside, “I feel like this every day. When I look at you. Life’s just _better_ when you’re here. You don’t gotta do much but exist around me, and I do better for myself, you know? Since you decided to stick around indefinitely, suddenly I could raise shoots from a seed again, like no big deal. Dunno how, Cas, but somehow you give me that power. And I’m always proud of you. All the things you make.”

“Business does seem to be taking off, doesn’t it,” Castiel remarked.

Dean kissed Cas’ nose. “Heck knows what your singing lizard sprite friend does with all the things you paint for her, but I ain’t complaining. I think we’d both take you munching on her weird forest nuts over you scarfing down bugs any day.”

“She told me she traded a set of painted plates to a sprite who lives up in the mountains,” Castiel said.

Impressed, Dean said, “That far?”

Castiel gave a humble nod. “Maybe someday my old tribe will happen to see something I make. I want them to know how happy I am now. How content. And how much stronger I am as an individual, as part of a supportive family – as opposed to a expendable drone, flying within a conformist cloud who compromise for no-one,” he said, rolling his eyes. He then let out a breath, and smiled at Dean with immense affection gleaming in his eyes. “I found my family here with you. It’s been almost a year since I met you, and I’ve never felt more at home than I do now. I’ve never loved anyone as fiercely as I love you.”

Dean glowed.

“Hm! You’re very adorable when you get flustered,” Castiel said, kissing Dean’s warm cheek. “You’re cute all the time, but especially when you turn pink.”

Dean mumbled something so incoherent even _he_ didn’t know what he said.

Castiel hugged him, burying his face against Dean’s neck and breathing in.

Like Castiel, Dean also enjoyed watching the others have fun. He was also glad to have Castiel’s hand to hold, and his squishy hips to hug, and a wing to drape over his shoulder and stroke. He sat beside Castiel and listened to the simmering ambience of a Summertime in full swing, watching their family playing in the distance, and he was happy.

✿

That evening, Dean, Castiel, and Squishbeans traipsed back to their tree-stump home. Dean and Cas were still holding hands, loose belongings slung over their shoulders. A fun day with the family was all well and good, but they were so tired now that they could barely speak. Even so, they dawdled; they wanted to enjoy the gentle haze of sunset over the sleepy Garden.

Once home, they pulled the bathtub out under the kitchen sink and shared a cool bath, dozing as they rested back-to-back. When Castiel’s head started to loll, Dean chuckled, “All right, you. Think it’s time for bed.” He helped Cas up, though he was yawning himself.

They dried each other off – and only ate a _little_ bit of fruit from the pantry before Dean shooed Cas up to bed. In the meantime, while wrapped in the towel, Dean did his nightly rounds: he checked outside to make sure nothing could get into their food storage – not mice, nor weasels, nor rogue bat sprites (he had enough bat sprites, honestly). Before he went back inside, he stood for a moment, taking a deep breath of fresh Garden air, sweet in the early night, and he _appreciated_ it. The Night Sun was rising above the forest, casting a beautiful silver halo upon every plant its light touched, blessing them all. Blessing Dean, too.

Feeling warm and full of light, Dean shut his front door now, double-checking it was closed. He wandered between the couch and the armchairs – all of which he’d kept and traded for, after borrowing them over Winter Solstice. He liked them too much to return, purely due to their coziness factor. As testament to this: on one armchair, Dean found Squishbeans, curled up, sound asleep. Smiling, Dean stroked her head, feeling his already-soft heart melting a bit more as she twitched her ears and whiskers, peeking open one eye.

“G’night, sweetheart,” Dean whispered to her. He left her to sleep, and he went up the ladder to the bedroom.

Castiel was already in bed, squinting and blinking as he tried to read a book. Dean yawned just from looking at him, and Castiel yawned back for so long that the book slipped from his hands. Dean put it away for him. He found himself a mint leaf to chew, and popped another one into Castiel’s mouth before either of them forgot.

Frankly, Dean was too tired to find his pyjamas, so he snuck into bed wearing his towel, and didn’t mind when it slid off him.

Cas was so very warm. Good for snuggling.

“I hadda good day t’day,” Castiel slurred, wriggling himself and his one-and-a-half wings under the blankets, nestling up against Dean’s side. “A vrry good day.”

Dean gave his forehead a goodnight kiss. “Me too. Get some rest now, ‘kay? Love you, Cas.”

“Hmmm loveyoutoo...” Castiel smiled, and his smile faded as he fell asleep. Dean gazed at him, always in awe at how special this bat sprite was, and how lucky Dean was – not only to have found him, but to have _kept_ him.

Dean was too tired to roll over and turn out the light, so he left it. He wrapped himself around Cas, and promptly drifted into a comforting, quiet sleep.

They slept on through the night, safe in their tiny home.

They’d been acquainted for nearly a full four seasons, now. The Summertime had fallen away to Autumn; they’d watched the Garden frost over in Winter. They’d watched the trees thaw, then bud, then bloom. Although they’d been apart as the Summertime leaves spread out, they were together as the branches strengthened. And they would be together as it happened all over again.

Each year, the cycle began anew.

And, along with their friends in their Garden home, they’d be together through all of it.

✿ **THE END** ✿

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big ol' thanks to my sister [Amara](http://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/) for supporting me through all the real-life trials and tribulations that I based this fic on. (And for betaing this.)
> 
> If this story brought joy to your life in any way at all, please let me know. Comment, or leave kudos. If you downloaded it, please come back and say hi. If you're proud of me for finishing it after 19 months (I know I am), or if you like the illustrations, please tell me. This story is so very dear to my heart and I want to know if it touched yours.
> 
> ✿ [My tumblr!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/)  
> ✿ [Art reblog (everything)](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/160140148700/here-are-all-the-illustrations-for-my-36k-deancas)  
> ✿ [Art reblog (final illustration only)](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/160140165955/the-final-illustration-of-my-36k-deancas-fairy-au)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to be kept updated on ~~this fic and~~ the other stories I write, [subscribe!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi) ♥


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